The Sands of This Love Are No Longer Mine to Grasp

Prose Poetry

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

I try not to think of you — much in the same way I blot out the noise of the news as it shares with me crisis after crisis, disaster after disaster. This well-timed dance helps me avoid the minefield that is the thought trail of you.

I try not to remember the way it felt when your eyes glanced my way — a surprise, like a bright shock to my system, right before I looked away and broke the connection. This skitter of steps made me recall old movie musicals, lovers taking time by each other’s movements, as if there was nothing but the choreography of life to adhere to.

I try not to recall that last broken number, a whole splitting into two, when you happened to fall into the arms of another. But “falling” isn’t the right word — because that would mean you had no choice, no option, as if Fate herself had pushed you into doing something you wouldn’t have done otherwise. Watching you acquaint yourself with a new partner, I realized there was no “one person” meant for another after all. We were just lightning bugs ready to spark against the next flame.

I try not to think of you — it’s true, it’s true. But I fail every time your name pops up, stealing my breath and making me hope just a little, until I realize it’s just someone else with your same moniker. I swallow…