A memory is only as real as the last time you remember it
I sometimes imagine you wandering the world
Sometimes as I gaze thoughtfully into the darkness
consciousness loosens fleshly bonds to float upward
the room dissipating in a chalky haze
as if sliding from alertness to dream
a strange world traded for the space that my bed occupied moments before.
The night sky unfolds like a peaceful, winding river
its banks the thick, silver clouds cloaking faraway stars
its secret depths the shadowy quintessence of night.
Like returning home after a long absence
time slips gently backwards
the sky brightening to a sapphire hue.
I hear your voice but cannot see your face
Goodbye Jon – it whispers
the memory’s clarity striking with savage force
my sense of loss a fixed and visible feeling.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
The world hasn’t changed
not really
but damn it something has
the Earth continuing to spin and tilt on its axis
seasons coming and going
as the lilt in your voice fades to oblivion.
And now I am old.
I grew old without you – do you understand?
Cursed to love and forced to say goodbye to you
again and again
your youthful ghost trapped in the now of the past
even while moving forward into the future without me.
I pretended that my life had not ended
pretended it held sacred purpose and meaning
pretended I headed someplace important
a destination no longer geographic but in some strange new dimension.
Was the end of this life the death of time or just the death of my soul?
I sometimes imagine you
wandering the world
timeless
young and beautiful
solid and real
but invisible to those of us who still live as if time never stopped
like an addiction that can never be broken.
You tried to warn me
but I did not understand
I still don’t.
I whisper into the night –
A memory is only as real as the last time you remember it.
About the Creator
John Cox
Twisted teller of mind bending tales. I never met a myth I didn't love or a subject that I couldn't twist out of joint. I have a little something for almost everyone here. Cept AI. Aint got none of that.
Comments (3)
This is stunning and all too relevant. We chase phantoms and phantoms chase us. Perhaps there is nothing to understand where even to understand nothing is to understand something. Well-wrought, John! Tears were shed, and I don't mind saying so.
Such yearning, John. I love these liines: The night sky unfolds like a peaceful, winding river its banks the thick, silver clouds cloaking faraway stars its secret depths the shadowy quintessence of night. Dream-like, ethereal. A wonderful poem.
Oh, ouch! I loved "your youthful ghost trapped in the now of the past" 😥