References

I stay up all night, unblinking.
Old conversations rise up before me.
They place their long, cold fingers on my warm throat.

I feel my pulse beat faster as the words swim across my eyes.
A black river of memory.
Then the chill pit in my stomach and the hollow of my heart
Disassociate.
I survive.
They fail to
Asphyxiate
Me.

I blame me.
Then I blame you.
Then I cry.

Every song is drenched in new meaning,
So simple, yet unattainable till now.

All the words that you planted in my brain,
flower in blazing light.
But they smell different, somehow.
An odour of memory and death and longing and love.

We used to talk about selective memory.
I will try not to commit that mistake.

Yes I agreed with Neruda that love was shorter than forgetting.
And you said that I listened like spring and talked like June.
And I knew that one day, one of us would have to be without the other.
but I never imagined it would be me and it would be so soon.

This love is strange, Ron.
It grows stranger each day.
And it grows stronger each day.

I know you felt too much love would kill me,
 If didn't make up my mind
and I know that you wanted to break free.

You are free now.
And I'm alone.
And I'm alive.
Without you.
 But why?
I wish you were here.

I'm tired of writing poetry.
I'm tired of making sense.
I'm tired of asking questions.
I'm tired of looking for answers.
And even finding them, sometimes.

But I'm not tired of loving you.
And I'm not tired of you memory.
And till I love,
And till I remember.
You'll always be here with me.