The book has been sent to publishing,
I regret nothing
Except that you never got to read it
(Which might have changed the ending
so that now we would be walking outside our small circles and the day would seem far less cold.)
I don't know why I can't let you go,
You never called me
back or beautiful all those times the air was thick with silence.
An obscure sort of mystery who wanted someone more than I,
not being sure who I am, besides
the person you once saw something to look closer for.
This will turn out like all the others no doubt,
-No- Such talk won't get the bitterness out.
See how that was? I'm moving on and making fresh starts and making no sense at all because one day something shifted and the truth just stopped me in my tracks mid sentence.
Midwinter. A catatonic trudge.
Here though you are not, bringing numb toes and fingers aching from overexposure. That's it-
I'm going bleak from overexposure, like a frozen statue or a ruined photograph.
Someone excise these thoughts from my tired mind. Exorcise me.
Resuscitate me, you just might be the only one who can lift the colorless curse of the frozen and of those without regrets.