I wrote a love letter
To the love of my life
At least I felt so at the time.
Maybe she just reminded me of better times
Ones where a sense of ease
was like breathing
Ones where what was on the way
Still gleamed like stars in space
Now my mental space,
most often
feels like the space in between:
Nothingness, if not for the light..
But what can be said about the light?
It’s silly. Seemingly arbitrary.
Frustratingly limited.
Ever-present, yet gone before you notice.
Alive.
Even when some gratingly public Intellect points their craggy finger at the sky
to say: “that light’s been on its way here for millions of years.”
I understand what they really meant to say:
“Wherever it’s from is long gone.
Whatever it left is likely now dark
or irrevocably, unrecognizably changed…
Just like us someday. To bad. What a straggler…”
yet still, I stand there feeling over joyed
Maybe even honoured.
That this straggling ray of light
bothered to brave the void at all
It’s warmth is scant, fleeting,
and comically post-dated
But somehow also impeccably timed.
Unmistakably real and present tense.
So I lie, nodding to the intellect
Pretending to be sad about the whole thing.
“Yeah that’s crazy...” I mumble, instead of:
“What a beautiful night”
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