Photograph On the Wall
A poem on falling out of love
It’s not like falling out of bed in the morning,
Fighting with your alarm to cease the incessant ringing
And tumbling to the ground, banging your head on the corner of your bedside table.
It’s more like drifting asleep on a poorly built raft at sea.
The sea lurches on as the tides pull it back in.
So much was said that can now be put to rest.
I still think of him
But not longingly, not with desperation as though he were the only drink in the miles-wide desert,
With a sort of distance and a sort of loving admiration,
I think of him as one thinks of a framed photograph on the wall rather than one secluded in a wallet.
I think- ‘He is all that I loved but perhaps not all that I was.
Perhaps I will learn to love others in time
And perhaps one day I will love another as I once loved him.
The sea lurches on
Now that he is gone;
The raft will sink
And I will learn to swim,
Or drown with it.
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