In the attic

Awareness of life now
Center once again split, set in twain;
Distant memories, still so vivid,
As yet scald with psychic pain

And she questions no more
No litany of uncertainties in practicality

Cease disillusionments
Cease wholesome fantasies

Recollection of past love
Reality freshly halved, then versus now;
Present achievement, quickly forgotten,
Lack a purpose and meaning to her

And she analyzes no more
No ceaseless inquiry of meaning

Empty imaginations remain
Empty of warmth are the images

His home, his room, his life with her -
All stilled photos, and nothing more -
Captured in a heart aged with lost love,
Collecting the dust of disuse ...

Treasured, and missed, always.

~ Loneal 02/17/02