(revised)
What is worse than being lonely?
It is knowing such things
are not meant for me,
not actually.
It is “I'm sorry.”
It is “just be happy.”
It is “how it should be.”
It is “please, remember me.”
It is almost at times
the illusion of being free
with endless hours
in haunted memory.
Worse than being lonely
is knowing this is what
happens inevitably;
some divided “we.”
It is “my apology.”
It is “what about me?”
It is “why can’t you see?”
It is “at last, finally!”
And winter comes on
bracing, quite suddenly,
this and nothing more,
nothing actually.
The waiter looks over
at me impatiently,
as if I had never said
a word to him verbally.
So, he barks again,
looking directly at me,
“Alright sir,
What’ll it be?”
And undoubtedly,
I don't know, not
this time, strangely;
no, not really.
© 9 Nov 2009, revised: 30 Jan 2011, mhdraper.
