SHADOWS

 

UNFAMILIAR SHADOWS

Always awkward, penciling in ties,

my trembling hand hesitates

over a calendar scarred with erasures,

each line a fragile plea

to meet again, for the first time—

in once-familiar haunts

where the air hangs heavy,

saturated with the musk of lost summers,

and the walls whisper

memories I can no longer claim.

My chest tightens,

a knot of hope and dread,

as I step into this half-remembered world.  

The maturity of passion

still carves its home

deep in the brown of her eyes—

a fathomless well of molten amber,

glimmering with echoes of who we were,

untouched, pristine,

like a relic sealed in glass,

unscathed by years

that have thundered past,

747s tearing through the silence

of my nights,

leaving me stranded

in their deafening wake.

I search those eyes,

aching for a flicker

of the girl I swore I’d never lose.  

Her embrace enfolds me,

sincere as a prayer whispered at dawn,

warm as a hearth I once called mine,

welcoming—

and oh, how I’d surrender

every Tuesday afternoon,

every breath,

to sink into that refuge again,

to feel the pulse of her against me,

a rhythm I’d memorized

in the quiet of forgotten years.

But the warmth stings,

a tender bruise,

for it’s laced with the scent

of a life I no longer fit into.  

Yet, this woman before me—

this body, weathered by new storms,

this soul my heart once charted

with ink and trembling verses,

my pen bleeding love

onto pages now yellowed with time—

has slipped beyond my grasp,

a stranger draped in her skin.

Her gaze, once my anchor,

now drifts past me,

haunted by shadows

I didn’t cast.

My voice falters,

swallowed by the hollow

where our shared history frays.  

She’s gathered new lovers,

their names thorns

in the soft flesh of my thoughts,

new lives stitched

with threads I’ll never touch,

new addresses etched

on a map that excludes me.

Her nomadic spirit soars,

a wild bird I can’t cage,

its wings brushing

cities of rain-slicked stone,

bazaars alive with saffron and clamor,

skies pierced by stars

I’ll never name.

Each tale she tells

is a blade,

carving the distance wider,

slicing through the cords

that once bound us.  

So much to relearn,

to claw back from the abyss,

like chasing a phantom

through fog-drenched streets.

Her stories spill,

a torrent of moments

I’ve no claim to,

and I stand,

shivering on the edge,

reaching for the woman

who once filled my silence,

now a riddle

I’ll never solve.

My heart stumbles,

torn between clinging

and letting go,

as I mourn the stranger

she’s become—

and the stranger

I’ve become to myself.