It had been a long time since I had felt.
Really felt.
So when I did, I took the chance and let it all in.
Now it all comes out.
The wet eyes are more frustration than heartbreak.
Because all that effort, all that hope, all that heart was for naught.
There were lots of good things and good times.
But under it all seemed to be distance.
A failing.
I try to remember the happy feelings or the passion.
And I can’t.
So I wonder if it really was there at all.
All I remember is the used, forgotten feeling.
And dying to get away.
But still trying .
Still reaching.
To something I neither cared for nor respected.
I stayed longer than I should have.
Longer than I had wanted to.
Because of something that is hard to explain.
I have explored this repeatedly in thought, as it is my way.
A good metaphor is the moth to the flame.
I was drawn.
And the smoldering of myself wasn’t enough.
To detract from the yearning for that light.
But the light is gone.
I am ash.
And now it is all out of me.
