As I start a whole new positive chapter in my life, it’s transition has unearthed loads of memories, good and bad. I guess I’m in a better place to cope with them all now, the stuff I’d hid away, photos, paintings and scribbles. Here’s one, written by an old me, one I can remember, but in a detached way, like a young person I may had worked with and helped. It’s a bit simplistic, I wrote it in 2000, I didn’t write again until 2012 despite writing poetry since I was a child.
I still feel you in the wind,
as you rustle through the leaves.
I can smell you in the rain
and hear you whisper through the trees.
I cry out and try to touch you
but there’s nothing tangible to hold.
Your physical in existence,
just leaves me feeling cold.
I feel you deep inside me,
united in my soul.
But with this space beside me,
somehow I don’t feel whole.
I try to block out painful memories
some too hard to bare.
I try to go on with my life,
but can’t let anyone near.
I just shut myself inside,
and wander from day to day.
I wish I could understand why you did this.
I wish you hadn’t made me feel this way.
When I started writing again, I tried to bring about closure, they best way I could in Broken Memory.