Introduction

I have been here before

This is my place

This is our place

Was our place

I come here to be alone

To think, to remember

Although I am alone here

I don't feel alone

The memories dance in my mind and my heart so profoundly they have presence;

have heartbeats of their own.

They are real

They are with me

I feel their warmth

Like the last hour of an August day,

shining on my closed eyelids,

hues of red, orange and yellow playing patterns

for my closed eyes to see.

The patterns twist and tumble, explode and implode

as I watch their kaleidoscope dance.

Sometimes, you must close your eyes to see clearly.

I don't cry anymore. I am past that part, I guess.

Over the years I have cried for you until there were no more tears.

My love for you cried out until there was nothing left but emptiness;

hollow, sullen, dry.

My dour days flopped one atop the other, like an unused desktop Rolodex.

Each blank card falling clumsily atop the one beneath it, before it;

colorless and insignificant they go 'round and 'round

with no end and no beginning, endlessly.

I still love you with everything I am,

and I fear that I always will.