morning news

you come into view,
eyes big with question–
who are you now?
I cannot tell you the truth.
the sting of it still
eats at me, feeding
on the pain.

I longed for you,
searched for you
in morning breath of
past lovers, wildly
succumbing to my dreams.
this morning, you greeted me
as if nothing has changed,
“Good Morning Tremaine,
Happy Birthday.”

and, for a minute,
I miss you.
but, only for a minute.
I don’t let you in.
I don’t offer you Me,
you no longer need
or require what I have to give.

I can say this aloud now,
there are no tears that follow.
I take a sip from a
small mug, coffee fogging
up my glasses,
and release you again.
I lock you back
where you have lived–
stranger in my mind,
vaulted memories.

there, you will remain
until next year.

©Tremaine L. Loadholt 17April16

Author’s note: there’s always a trigger. Mine, this morning: a text message.