Crescendo

When the waves roll us

back out onto dry land,

do you think

we will meet again?

 

Hours.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

 

They all turn into years.

 

And.

 

Years change us

and how we love each other.

Years change what we forget

and what we remember.

 

I hope the years will help me

to forget your cowardice, and

my own. I hope the years will

help me to remember only

the seconds

and minutes

and hours

and days

that we were, finally,

with each other—

honest and confessed.

 

For a measure of time,

you saw me

and

I saw you.

 

Until fear took your eyes

and perseverance led me

away from you.

Because.

You cannot

have my final love story.

 

My love is too big—and,

maybe it was just too big for you.

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