“How can I be reasonable? To me our love was everything and you were my whole life. It is not very pleasant to realize that to you it was only an episode.” ― W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil.
I understood your cold feet. Understood the chill in your limbs, as it had always been that way. When you cuddled tight and pressed those icicles into my naked shins, I always shivered but happily shared my heat with you. Yet those insecurities of your inferiority wrapped around you. Lamenting in each idea that you wouldn’t achieve those dreams you kept hidden in your heart from early childhood. You hated your work, hated your town, needed to get away and travel. Yet, I couldn’t understand how, out of all those things you desired to change, I became the one you did? When I never was to begin with. When happiness shone down into those pours with each day we shared, each moment we embodied the universe in skin form. Merry spheres danced in our heads as we stared into what we thought would be forever – and how did it come to shattered memories and black holes?
Maybe it was a mimicry of the society we could not escape. Where life was as fleeting as those devices we puke our souls into. Was swapping a relationship just as easy as upgrading to a new phone? If that is the case, I need to ask, do we really want to exist in such a world? I gave you all that was in my power, for so many years. Grasped the stars to wrap them in tinsel and tinfoil, presented them at your feet and offered you the world. Not because I thought that was what you expected, but because you had given me the universe. Before you, life created darkness, but you, you gave it light and beauty… When you smiled, nebulas sparked into creation, those spiralling galaxies fashioned around us as we held and, although we were far from alone in existence, for those moments we were and are everything.
Now you run, only weeks before our love was to be declared to gods, pressed into the verse as that which held together meaning, truth and infinity! You ran to him and, with all your lies crashing down like meteors and monoliths, our life falls apart. The world plunged to depths and fathoms that drowned all pleasure and passion, and you ran far and fast. Will he be worth our heartache?
Yet, like the technology you easily swap, the lives you readily trade, the ghost of you reaches out with promises and degrading fabrications, “I still love you. I know it’s a mistake. Be patient and I will return.” Perverse in your infancy, your stupidity and worship, you know that meaningless lexis was only thrown to the heavens to relieve your guilt and shame. And you know I will hear it all and come crawling with the little strength I can muster. Pathetic flesh bag that I am.
As I sink towards the void, your echoes swirl and spray, thrashing likes waves that remember so many futures that lay on our hearts only weeks ago. Were they as fake as technology and lies? I guess I will never know. Silence is all I can now take from your lips. The only dream that carries forward lie at those fractured feet. Those cold days of futures past. And you run, with your cold feet. But, do you know where such a race will end?
Poem © Phen Weston 2016