The Unbearable
I am pained and fascinated by
How I can sit so perfectly still
And writhe in perfect agony
No motion, no twitch, yet breathless,
Somehow, from lovelost torture.
Nights my sweet spectre sits
Across from me, staring, staring,
And then looking away, no hint of a smile,
My hearts swells and deflates,
Always perplexed by our insistent distance.
I wonder how I can lose what I never had,
And how I am, regardless, bereaved,
I suffer, grovelling to fate for retribution,
For compensation for all of my woes,
Still nights I lie awake, tears etched on my skin.
By morning, I am consumed, rested and restless,
A vision of him paints my eyes,
I am consoled by nothing and no one
Save for the never-ending promise of his return
Come hell or high water; he will always be there.
But we are kindred! I can tell,
Though he always turns to leave,
I somehow feel for his disorientation
Except I can never express my true self,
Only the skittish, excited bird I become.
I cannot say if any good will ever come,
I see the competition and I burn,
Jealously is not a robe I wear well,
He will soar higher and higher
And I will sit in the river and drown.
My longlost lover that never was to be,
Come back to the horizon, dwindle there,
So if I might never have you, my setting sun,
Neither shall the other side.