Do you hear this?
This is the silence of days past,
The regrets that hold onto your soul,
Wanting to let go but not knowing how.
This is the remembrance you have of a stomach filled with warmth,
A fleeting memory that only lasted a few seconds,
Before t'was gone as it forgot you.
The eclipses in your mind of the people you feel you should know
Are so close – oh, so very, very close – but are mere silhouettes,
Passages of yourself that you can never grasp again.
Do you feel this nothingness?
Can you have this hole within that will never fill?
Do you wonder when it will end? (Do you want it to disappear?)
Does this really exist? Or are we merely dreaming?
Trying to hold onto an element of ourselves that never existed in the first place?
How can memories be real if we can never recapture them?
Is it better to forget and move on, letting go of the cognisance's of the past?
To set free these ambiences you can never categorise but somehow live inside of you?
Is it really worth all of this? All of these memento mori I can no longer grasp . . .
Am I worth this much? Is anybody?
I sit here and wonder about my aura of isolation, this solitude of mine,
This rupture that's supposed to be healed in my heart, and do not know what to think.
And still it grows larger.
19 March 2007