The Poet of Lost Love
She shivered within her bunched up blankets;
clinging to them for a comfort
which they were too inanimate to give.
The picture that had always comforted her before
was no longer there on the end table.
Nothing but a clock
and quietely mocking her.
She slid open the drawer.
Dusty pages laid in wait
lusting for eyes to make more
of the ink laid across it;
for there was so much more
than just words.
The pages were more of a
black and white image.
A photograph of an emotion,
permanence of a heartbeat;
captured and written.
His every wish, desire and feeling.
And the picture was her.
She couldn't read his words anymore.
She shut the drawer and tried to sleep;
Though tears still escaped
eyes forced shut.
He played through memories in his head;
the only thing he had left from her.
Relic memories repeating
as the knife broke through his skin.
Blood fell and stained pages of his notebook
in places his words hadn't already...
Words as dark as the ink that placed them there.
His fault was in his loyalty.
In his vow to never break a promise.
A romantic to the end.
He learned roughly,
as many before him,
that idealists don't belong
in a realist world.
He remembered vividly
the day she left him.
He never smiled again...
She saw him across a busy street,
pen in hand writing.
He stared blankly at the traffic
and masses of people scurrying around him.
Only his hand moved,
the rest of his body still as his gaze.
He rose from his seat
and boarded a bus as it arrived,
leaving his notebook behind.
She cracked it open once she crawled into bed,
reading from it for hours.
"Another notebook I leave,
I do not know why.
To any reader:
Know that I ask no pity.
I choose to suffer.
Love is only lost
when both forget."
She read of pure pain and agony
upon a blood stained final page
she read an ode to herself.
A beautiful dedication.
Not to a demon or heart breaker
but to a goddess.
Inside the back cover she read:
"I continue my pain.
I will not forget
and I will always love her.
She slammed the end table
where his picture should have been.
Tears streaked her face
as she twisted underneath the blankets.
Clinging to them,
for a comfort they were too inanimate to give.