Best read while listening to Adagio for strings, Op. 11.
I wonder if he knows
That every time I say goodbye I intend for it to be the last
That I leave with steel in my back
But always return with my eyes on my feet watching every step I take backwards
I wonder if he knows just how many times I’ve told myself
This is the last time.
And how many times I’ve lied to myself and to him
Never really saying goodbye to him
Letting myself think I’m keeping him in ignorance of my very soon departure
When actually it is me.
I wonder if he knows how haunted the old places feel to me
That even his bed feels hallow because that little piece of me that once claimed it,
Has gone.
It’s not mine anymore.
He is not mine anymore.
And maybe he never was
But like the desperate, hopeless, romantic I am
I made something out of nothing
Love out of Lust
Pleasure out of Pain
Turning clay into a mold
An artist painting a canvas
Only to have my muse vanish
Leaving shadows that whisper to me
Shadows that haunt me
Shadows that force me to write their woes
I wonder if he knows I am surrounded by his shadows…
Mystic River 