a patterned old tile floor in a smokey bar
where once the alley cats
used to walk upon
to sounds of songs we liked when young
we fill the air with chinwag
and laughter
gossiping about the good old days
when promise lay ahead of us
the promise of endless possibilities
i see your love and affection for each other
in your eyes and smiles and way of talking
and i’m sitting there, more than grateful
for the time and thoughts we share
or the other day when we were sitting in another place, pondering
on the meaning of togetherness, love and longing
intangible abstractions, like a painting
by Georgia O’Keefe
and the moment we discern that love
lies in the present
no matter with whom
you share it
and what
for
loneliness, the only constant in life
dreaded but needed
to inspire opus
like incense
the lonely artist finds her voice only
within the realm of madness
her true muse
a cold wind shaking my bones reminds my heart of its frozen state
ready to build walls against the next inevitable injury
but what would be an open heart
without bleeding?
it is better to love, i’m infering though
to be in love with the impossible
than not to love at all
as true love can only
be accessed through
severe pain
resistance is futile
i’m pain, i’m love
thank you
„Take your broken heart, make it into art.“ – R.I.P Carrie Fisher
