Masochistic Pantomime

I know now, and I should have known then, there’d never be wedding bells.

I sigh, watch a women’s soccer game, drinking dry red wine, eat too sweet caramels.

So many years, and social media show me her life, and that I was a moment in time.

I loved her, and I had to go looking for her to re-open the wound, masochistic pantomime.


I loved her. If ever I really loved a woman, not just infatuated or lonely, or lust,

but truly loved and cherished and let her in to stand side by side until the dust,

it was her.

But it was not to be, and should have let it be, that much I know for sure.


My team’s up 1-nil. I’ll fall asleep in this recliner, and my head will swim,

even when I wake up, but I’ll remember and smile if they hold out to win.

Melodramatic again. The past has nothing to offer. You can’t go back again,

to when they were there, when you and here were one, a self abusing sin.


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