The penance of the forgotten

I knew that this day would come;

we’ve always walked in the same circles,

we’ve always haunted the same places.

I knew that the day would be

when I would be confronted with

having to look you in the eyes again.

I’ve dreamed of this moment

in a thousand bittersweet dreams.

I would confess to you that

my love for you has not abated,

that my ardor has not washed away

and you would be overcome,

your eyes would well with tears,

and we would embrace with urgency,

our hearts pounding against one another,

seeking out the familiar rhythm

of the lifetime we once shared.

And so this day has finally arrived

and I am prepared to throw myself

into the sacrificial fire, accept all blame,

if it is enough to make you mine again.

I am planning all my words,

making sure that I cannot be misconstrued.

And beneath this controlled, pensive face,

there is a heart that is racing at the prospect

of finding all that love lost,

that current that moved my life,

of that blissful ribbon that tied us together.

Ah!  There you are, as handsome as ever,

and behold the smile in your eyes!

I feel myself evaporating into the air

and floating heavenward.

And then I am brought crashing to Earth-

I sense a change in your demeanor,

benevolence mingled with nostalgia and

there is something in your expression

that fans the flames of my apprehension.

This is my wife, you say without rancor-

it is not a statement meant to stab me

but it does.

How do you do, says the beautiful woman

who demurely stands at your side,

holding your hand with affection.

How perfect she looks at your side!

And I realize that this day came way too late,

that you’ve long since forgotten me, and

that my dreams were foolish, wishful thinking.

I am pleased to make your acquaintance,

I say, silently choking on the words.

It is so good to see you, you say,

Time has treated you very well.

Time has obviously treated you better, I retort,

floating now, far away from my body,

watching a shell go through the motions

of being charming, of being gregarious.

We must invite you over to our new house,

she says, and her sincerity is kind, gentle,

as if women’s intuition whispers to her that

I’m dying underneath the façade of politeness.

I watch you both walk away, pleased with yourselves.

I can almost hear you telling her how truly

difficult those days were when we separated and

how happy it makes you to see me so well.

If it appeases your guilt and sorrow, I think,

then yes, I am quite well now days-

 No desolate nights, no bedridden afternoons,

no mornings filled with thoughts of never waking-

I will lie to you if that is what you need to hear.

The undeniable truth is that slowly,

I’m rotting inside from old, unrequited love-

it is poisonous to bear for so long.

Such inconsolable sadness begins to eat away

at the very fibers of one’s soul.

I will bear this burden alone, forsaken by love,

and walk away to leave you to your bliss.

and I will hope, as futile as it seems,

that time will erase you

from my memory

as I have been erased from yours.