Postscript

Ok, I know it’s much too soon for this:
nothing has changed, nor is it likely to.
But sod’s law says not now will end as never,
so now or never? Now will have to do.

Summer’s come early, yet the house stays dark,
and memories bring tears like summer rain.
The isolator switch that tripped is still
waiting for me to flick it on again.

Around me others carry on their lives,
moving through different phases as we did.
Somehow this cheers me up, perhaps there could
be one more phase before they nail the lid.

No sooner thought, than I knew those words were false.
And though I leave the audit trail, I know
the show is over. As the lady sings,
all I can do is tidy up and go.

Without my life’s main context new events
cannot be placed; all paths look much the same,
and lead directly to the same dead end.
Lost in this maze, I call for her in vain.

But this is no complaint, that’s not the message.
My life was much enjoyed, at least by me;
I’d take it all again. It’s just that love
attaches to it this corollary:

survivors will all pay a bitter price,
in currency that never can be spent;
impelled to dwell on what’s now out of reach:
fortunate, carefree days of shared content.

So that’s my postscript as things stand today.
It’s possible it may not be the last,
but I foresee few changes, fewer pleasures.
The life I want is buried in the past.