Gone Fishing

Since we’ve been gone I have little to write about,

My poetry is left bland without the constant emotion you seemed to be able to spout of me.

We grew apart with time,

And I don’t understand why we went away,

But maybe that’s for the better.

Nothing quite feels the same about you,

But I am okay.

Just like you said I’d always be.

I come to you when everything falls apart,

Even if I haven’t came to you in months,

You still welcome me with open arms.

We’re here for each other still,

In a better way I think, this time around.

I write best when it’s about you,

Still.

Like a moth to a flame we always clash back together one way or another,

One form or another.

We are soul-mates,

Even if it’s not in a love sense.

I held hope for us for so long,

I held that whisper in my ear that I saw for us.

But I’ve gotten used to the pain of it never working out.

The pain got so consistent that I stopped noticing the constant blade in my back.

The color drained when you left me the first time,

My body started to become accustom to the lack of vibrancy in everyday life.

I never really fully recovered.

And I still see you in everything I write,

Every picture I draw,

In every color I wear.

I still get mad at your new girls,

Holding your hand like I once did.

I do believe that you are my Linda Tandy.

But I think everybody has a Linda Tandy.

And we never really recover from Linda,

But we find someone else eventually that has had their own Tandy,

And you fix each other and comfort each other in your times of need.

Then one day,

If you’re lucky,

You fall in love and show it to the world.


L.G