Scrap
I hate my broken heart. I hate how much it aches and yearns. While I work to stay positive and hopeful, the future it sees is bleak and lonely. I show it that all is not lost, there are good things and happy times ahead, and all it shows me grey, barren landscapes.
One of the places I get caught is the “Why.” Why did this happen? It wasn’t supposed ( Read more... )
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You have the sad now, but you will not always.
And perhaps you will make sense of it and heal.
Or perhaps you won't, and heal anyway.
Because at your core you are a good man with much to be healed for.
And we will be here for you.
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There were some things I would never know -
I realized that, but I wanted to understand
as much as I could before I let it go.
I couldn't stop making phone calls to Chicago -
to his doctor, his insurance agent, his doorman;
the coroner, who told me more than I wanted to know;
to his psychiatrist, who made a show
of sympathy and dismissed out of hand
my speculations - but I wouldn't let them go.
The detective sounded weary, which was no
surprise: it was 2 a.m. He patiently explained
what he could, then sighed, "You'll never really know."
I weighed the possibilities, made lists, wrote memos
to myself: was it spontaneous or planned -
and for how long? I couldn't let it go.
I kept calling my brother and sister to let them know
what I had figured out. Each time they listened
but then told me what I had always known:
we would never understand. I had to let it go.
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