Would That
I spent some time tonight
thinking about my earlier selves,
standing at each of my diverging roads,
in all the yellow woods over all the years
and pondering if I would have done anything
differently knowing what it has cost me to know
what I know now. Would it have been better
to have taken the other road at each turn
the safer road, no matter where it led?
I’m not prone to be overly reflective
about choices made and about the roads
traveled (or not) because we are the sum
of each and all of our decisions
compounding and consequated.
I have no choice but to be me.
I cannot be anyone else.
But when you strip away
lying to yourself
when you strip away
“would haves”
“could haves”
“should haves”
what do you have left?
I find myself stepping out of
a profoundly disordered life
into an ordered one; one where
everything
makes sense. Where loving
and being loved
is simple.
It takes but one person
seeing you for who you are
and loving you without condition
for “it” to suddenly make sense.
For “it” to not be complicated,
whatever “it” is. But I know “it”
is you.
I can’t promise anything
because I don’t want to lie.
Not to you.
Not about a “roving eye”
because that’s not me.
Just keeping it together
because sometimes that’s just
so fucking hard to do.
There’s a rage inside me,
anger at everything
and everyone.
I hate that I feel this way.
And usually, I hide it pretty well.
Go figure.
But love.
The way you look at me
when I look at you.
Humbles me.
Calms me.
Restores my humanity.
Gives me hope.
Has become my truth.
I don’t know how to not
want to love you
and do my best to act
in the way you need
not to love me
but so you can be you.
I know you love me
I don’t know if
that “unconditional love”
will not have “conditions”
when it comes face-to-face
with my demons.
Not today, but someday.
I just don’t know.
I’m incredulous I am allowed
to be loved…
and yet you love me.
So would that I always remember
to tell you every chance I get,
starting with this poem,
I love you.
We can go from there.
It’s not complicated.
— Matthew S. Spira © 2020
