365 Poems – 122 The Truth (Rough First Draft)
I am finally sleeping with the lights off.
I forgot to talk to myself this morning,
which can only be a good sign.
Often it’s night. Too often it’s day,
and I go through the rigmarole
of interaction with people who aren’t you.
Going from the naturalness of seeing
each other every day, to nothing, so quickly
has left me shook up and lost. I’ve only just
managed to take to wiping the dust
off your computer screen and keyboard.
I hold onto the fragments of conversation
we had, about little things that make a difference.
But I can’t help but wonder when will I
stop moving completely?
But I must have a certain toughness
to have come this far.
You loved me
because I could laugh at my disasters.
I remember your catch phrase whenever
I’d talk about the old days;
caution, may cause drowsiness.
I remember when I first spotted you,
in the crowd, and knew you’d be something
cool to touch, a story stripped down,
a creature wild.
You said; are you only here to cause trouble?
but let me hang onto your elbow,
with the energy and animation of a child.
By the end of the night, you said;
I want to be good to you all the time,
and be with you when you die.
I thought you meant I would keel over first.
You didn’t. You told me, in the final week
when we arranged things in your room,
that you wanted us to go at the same time,
heads touching, hands crossed in the centre
line, where our two bodies would meet.