Willing To Love

The train drew closer
And I waited patiently
For her. It had been
Four months, twelve days,
Seven hours and 15 minutes
Since I last saw her.

Her letter said she
Was coming for good,
That she was looking
Forward to moving to
The little Spanish city
That was my home.

The train emptied out
And between families
And lovers reuniting,
I waited patiently
For her. I waited
Till the little station
Was almost empty.

Then I felt a tap
On my shoulder, I
Turned around to find
The train's conductor,
A letter in his hand,
A mix of sadness and
Pity in his eyes.

He didn't speak,
I didn't speak,
The letter left his hand
Coming into mine.

He walked away,
His mission complete,
A weight, a burden
Now gone, soon to
Be forgotten.

Alas, this weight, this burden
Was now mine,
I walked across to a bench.
As I sat, I opened the letter.

Words swam in and out of
My vision, in and out of
My understanding like
Fish escaping the water
Attempting to fly.

I had read the letter
Once, then twice,
It was only on the third
Reading that I truly
Understood.

In a daze, I walked
Through the city, the
Vibrant colours I had
Come to know had bled away.

I walked to a my neighbourhood,
But passed my abode,
Making my way to the bar
Down the street from it.

I parked myself on
A stool and asked
The bartender, a friend
Of mine, for something hard,
Something to dull the edges.

He didn't ask,
I didn't tell.

Between mid-afternoon
And midnight, I drank
To forget, I drank
To dull the pain, I drank
Till the bartender, the friend
Refused to serve another
Glass of slow death.

Instead at two past
The witching hour,
He delivered me to my home,
Placing me on the bed,
Water on the bedside table
And a bucket on the floor.

She never came, instead
Pain was my companion
During the months that followed.

Eventually it eased from
Sharp to dull like
A butcher's old knife.
Then it became an ache
That returned only when
I remembered.

I stared to forget
Thanks to Maria, and
Maria became Isabella,
Isabella became Bianca,
Bianca became Carmen.

As Carmen slept in
My bed, I returned to
The letter for the first time
In a long time.

In the letter,
She said she loved me
But she was scared,
She didn't have the
Wherewithal to jump, to
Take a chance on
The fickle emotion
Called love.

For the first time ever,
I didn't feel sad,
I felt angry, and in
That anger, I tore the
Letter up, offering the
Pieces to the flames
On my stove top.

I returned to my bedroom,
Stopping at the doorway,
Watching the woman sleeping
In my bed, the woman
Willing to take a chance
On love.

Her eyes opened and on
Seeing me, a lazy smile
Spread across her face,
"Vienes aqui, mi amor,"
Reaching her hand out to me.

I went to her,
Wrapping myself around her.

The pain was gone,
The anger was gone,
Love for some one who
Loved me replaced it all.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets