I don’t know how to fill this space,
a deep and sometimes sullen chasm
of bittersweet memory,
an ability to pass our lives as if nothing ever really mattered,
it’s like shaving my head,
wearing a toupee.
There’s nothing realistic in burying my feelings,
never had that ability,
yet only tears would or could or did
define my emotion.
I’m telling a story with words,
though I cannot seem to come to grips
in their meaning,
the impact they a phrase might have on me,
every thought I can put into a free verse,
is meant for her eyes,
and when I do let go and let my words run,
what happens every time.
I lose you,
I lose myself struggling to ‘be’ again.
© Scott F Savage 4/2020
‘the ‘b’ series