If you knew how much I think of you still,
you would be unhappy,
maybe even disturbed.
But I suppose that is what we ask of
everyone we have left behind.
Don't think of me, forget me, let me go,
get on with your life.
I am sure you would shut me out
of the access points if you were aware,
that I spent time with your internet
presence.
If only it were so easy to let go!
The facts of the situation were quite clear
and there they were, spread out like
a fan of cards on the table.
Gin.
Rummy.
But there was something in the player that
I never understood, something that
let you win the game, and play me
like that.
I never let myself form an opinion of you,
because I knew it was not easy to
get inside.
But I never got inside.
You slamemd every door shut that I opened,
pushed me to the ground like a defiant child,
with unexpected roughness.
Stunned, then gaining my composure,
I unfolded the paper in my hands
and read the same facts again and again.
Memorized them. Studied them. Tried to make
sense of them. Weighed and measured.
The facts are clear, but the mystery remains,
and so alone on the beach, autumnal tide
coming, I still
search for the shells and detrius of
the wreck.
Things wash ashore, and I hold them in my
hands and wonder,
who was inside?