There is a crystalline memory
That haunts me:
She had a celestial name.
And soul-searching eyes.
Within a minute of meeting
She had seen a piece of my heart that was awry
And she reached out,
Reached out with her eyes
And touched it.
Gentle, but firm.
Careful, but insistent.
She reached out…
“You have to let go.”
It hurt. Like a joint out of socket
It wrenched to go back in place.
My heart denied that it belonged.
The piece didn’t want to go.
But her eyes insisted.
It was too late to say no.
And I bled tears.
I couldn’t help it.
I didn’t know I needed fixing.
But the residual pain of the correction
Reminds me still.
She was right. She still is.
The memory of her eyes
Reaching out…
“You have to say goodbye.
You have to let it die.”
And I bleed tears.
About the Creator
Lydia Stewart
Lydia is a freelance copywriter and playwright, watercolorist and gardener living in Michigan. She loves to collaborate with writer friends, one of whom she married. Her inspirations come from all of these interests and relationships.
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By Vocal Curation Team4 days ago in Resources
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