…begins again

I read the night like a well-worn book
whose pages I am endlessly turning
caught in an endless looping reality, where I linger in limbo
listlessly drifting from dream to dream
which in the moment, appear unseen
yet as the reels turn again and again
familiarity caresses the corners of my mind
I see flashes, glimpses, snippets of you
and it is always that moment when your face is almost clear
that the ageing film bubbles and melts
burning away into darkness, the sound becoming distorted
and slow, so slow, as if you are fading away once more
but I know in my heart that you are already long gone
and the distorted echoes and the acrid fumes of melting memories
are emanating from me, from the very core of my being
once again forsaken, broken by the night, by the sight
by that one glimpse, by that shadow of your face
it becomes clear, that each day begins again
softly scented with the aching absence of you
so I ready myself to clear the slate
to leave everything in the hands of fate
to turn my back on the world of night, to enter the day
and to finally walk alone once again
I meticulously follow my sorrowful routine
shoulders back, eyes forward as I lean into the light
but the weight of your absence will not be denied
even as the shredding threads, of my fading dreams
slip further out of reach
I am filled with a sense, a presence, unseen and unheard
those traces of you that I cannot grasp, the you that cannot hear
the unasked questions, the you
that cannot speak the unspoken answers
you are in the wind that gently teases my hair
that sings through the trees and caresses the leaves
and whispers to me from afar
an underlying softness, that cushions the day
light as a feather yet so hard to bear
I feel you every second, every minute and I cannot turn away
in my heart I know the awful truth
and I surrender gently to the waves of despair
in the knowledge that you will still come to me
as the wind in my hair
but I will no longer hear you, no longer see you anywhere
© Ann Bagnall