“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, May 28, 2016
In the company of strangers
I thought...
Perhaps she wasn't as lonely
as she thought she was...
Perhaps she wasn't able to see
the difference between wanting
to be thought about
and thinking she was wanted...
She was perhaps mistaking
that forgotten feeling
for need...
I thought
being alone
this long, intentionally
she would see, she shows me
her life had been precisely the way
she wanted
it to be, in gratitude for solitude...
I thought wrong
she said she wanted a man
more than she could stand
since she had not planned
for the golden years
or for the gold she knew
she was due...
She was sure
after all those silver lined years
she still had insecure fears
and had forgotten all about
how much
she thinks of herself,
and what she wants.
She is all she will ever need...
A lone she
in a crowd of couples.
Image by Jurij Ĺ ubic [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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