by Lindsay Griffiths
Hot tears blur my vision, my aching heart pounds heavily
When I am in solitude, remembering.
The occasional melancholy drapes over me like a shadow,
Like the all black attire of my mourning soul.
I cry silently, solemnly,
As if for one long, long deceased.
Although you still breathe in this present moment,
You are “no longer with us”
No longer with me.
The one I fell in love with has passed away.
The one to whom I exposed my heart,
Just as I exposed the honest pages of my journal,
Baring all
The one whose tender lips I once dreamed of
Is dead and gone.
Someone with your face, your voice, your walk,
Treads the very hallways we once walked together.
He resembles you and bears your name
But he is not you.
Those eyes that once drew me in like magnets,
Like magic,
Are now cold and vacant.
I am not an “ex”
But rather, a widow.
The “you” I loved who cherished the sound
Of my first name paired with your last
Is dead and gone
A faded memory that lingers only
In old nostalgic pictures which I have deleted,
In old endearing voice mail messages which I have erased,
In old videos which I have banished
To the forgotten place where discarded data goes to die.
As I re-read your familiar handwriting,
It is as if I am in your memorial service
In remembrance of my first love,
Attendance of one.
When I glimpse what is left of you roaming the hallways
I know he is not you.
He wears your clothing and laughs with your friends
He styles his hair like I liked,
But only for force of habit.
You, who said you would always love me, are,
I am sure of it,
Dead and gone.
Dim flashbacks, us chasing each other around my kitchen,
Print out as Polaroids
Ejected from my sorrowful soul
And hang in the sanctuary,
Framed with chrysanthemums,
In Loving Memory of my loving memory.
Although he walks your walk,
The flesh very much alive,
The heart in his chest
That once beat for me
Is dead and gone.
