The gif plays over and over on my phone,
the purgatory of a captured motion,
over and over and over, just that moment.
She is there, on the moors, a late autumn morning,
still green and bright, before the snow, before the
sun hid it’s face for a season.
Long brown hair blowing in the cold wind,
a luminescence in her dark eyes, and that smile,
that was the second sun, earthbound warmth.
I captured the moment, to keep that perfection
forever, to never lose the way she shone, or
the contentedness I felt with her in the wilds.
A year later, her no longer my lover, I still cherish
her and watch my favorite moment repeat, over and over
the purgatory of trying to recapture a perfect moment.
Over and over it repeats, always the same there,
when she loved me and all was well, I had all
I ever dreamed of.
I can never go back to that bright morning on
the moors, to that shard of Eden, and repetition
just dulls even bittersweet aches, the sweet sadness.
Over and over, the purgatory of compulsion, of
repeating old pleasures because everything is faded here,
and I can’t let her go, even though she let me go.