Growth

The tortured minutes churn Into hours that make up the day And the days, slowly, Turn into weeks Which turn into months And slowly, so slowly The wounds turn to scars And memories fade Into the current consciousness the flood subsides And the sting of the loneliness Becomes the norm once again And one cannot help but wonder If it could ever be good again If their best times have already past And the new norm is distant, cold, Heartless, lifeless, and silent, but open to possibilities, although none are appealing all it offers is newness. The sound of muffled weeping, A pillow soaked through Takes the place of lovemaking That would be followed By the soft snore of a loved one And the cold morning Gives way to stumbled footsteps Heading to the coffeemaker Walking on her rug Seeing her painting Outside staring at the place Where she would appear Rounding the corner on her way over For a night of greatness Only strangers appear there now Going to the club that was once ours Only strangers are there too They buy shots and say “I love this guy!” There’ll be no love tonight. Finding little things she left behind Remembering happier times When she was around, or at least interested It feels almost like continuation, Yet almost like a death What would she have wanted me to do? What would she think of this? Wait until she hears the news! Yet she is nowhere to be found The only her is of memory. And the minutes churn to hours And then to days and weeks The love and laughter turn to silence Hope dies a slow death And memories fade to legion A warm heart grows colder