- Books, Literature, and Writing
The Love That Remains
I do not call these feelings from the past or beckon them to haunt my days, my nights. They are simply there, unannounced and completely in control of whatever I was feeling or planning.
Without fail, there is the absence of your presence. It makes all that I am and all that I try to accomplish a sad imitation of what I intended. I could more easily step out of my shadow than separate then from now and can only long for that which was and can not be again.
I succumb and ride the waves of relief as they wash over my aching soul and transport me to that time, our time, when all we needed was within us. Even then, we knew it was too sweet, too perfect for this world to allow, yet we drank in the intoxication, savoring each drop.
Music was composed in honor of our being and lyrics written only to record our journey further and deeper than any other before or since.
What now, am I to do as this truth tears the veil between what was and the slimmest wisp of hope that it could somehow be again? How do I stand alone, unsupported, by that which had become as much a part of me as the breath I intake and release?
But do not fail to come again or at your bidding I will leave all, to suffer the incomplete tryst that is still more than all and every ounce of good that is in this life, with your absence ever present.