I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I am sick.
It is not in my blood or my bosom. It is just there, everywhere.
Every time I think, plan and decide.
Then, open I, my mouth and sigh.
I am hung-over on paralysis. I am high.
Choked, no words appear and rusted, my muscles have disappeared.
I cannot bring myself to look her in the eye.
I cannot talk and I do not cry.
I do not crane my neck to see what is it, that is so wrong.
But, when I am alone, I fear.
For only a dreadful dirge I can hear.
I have no excuses to give to myself but words that speak loud of somebody who was once so dear.
I know that I am wrong, yet I am not good enough with spoken words to speak the same.
I berate myself, console my broken heart, pick up the broken threads of a relationship, I had cut hard.
With scissors sharp in my hands, I had snapped a chord which can no longer be heard.
A jarring relationship, I survive every moment I breathe.
To me, an existence it seems in a life to lead.
Time as such, I know, will heal no wounds.
Unless, the hands of the clock I can wind to a time past for a treasure lost so soon.
It is dead and I hope, it will be gone as well.
This guilt in the vines of which I am bound.
It festers, festers like the wound it is.
A blow to my pride and all I want to do is apologise.
I know, courage is not something I have ever had.
Not when forgiveness is slack.
I hope, winds will carry these to you.
Words, they are unspoken,
But felt in a moment of despair,
all which wish is to convey,
how sorry I am
for having lost you,
in the clutter of the year.
*In memory of a shadow of something which is no more.*