Forty years have passed. The ache is new. Yet Familiar. Its tugging a strange comfort. Happiness has never made its nest, never quite settled in. You know why. Yet you choose oblivion. Its safer you know. Than the reality. You wait for the phone to ring. For an invitation. You sit alone. And wonder how your life turned out this way. Such a fool. An arrogant sod.
The generations filling in. Impressive in numbers. You don't know them. You couldn't possibly. Why oh why, you ask again and again. The ego. A false friend. A bitter enemy. You cling to it. Its all you've got. In the bitter end. You quarrel with yourself. Blame yourself. Despise yourself. Forty years have passed.
Forty years ago. The pain you caused. Devastation and turmoil. Such a hollow aching. Bitterness you bore. And selfishness you knew. The lonely won out. And you bailed. A lost child. Hurt. So hurt. Could not see past the longing. Could not see all the pain you were causing. For the mere chance at this happiness. The legacy you left behind. Into the future. It seeps like a black mist.
Ugly and spiteful. Cankerous and blind. Seething with lust. Damn everyone. It didn't last. And the happiness never did come. The sorrow was swallowed up. Buried deep inside. Moving on. Because that's what needs to be done. You never did learn. Nothing ever changed. Calculating and scornful. Forty years ago.
Forty years and counting. The gray and the wrinkles. Do little to disguise. Squinting to forget. In the wake of destruction. And the memory of such lies. Lies you told yourself. Lies you told anyone who would listen. But in the end there is no peace. No peace at all. Just a man whose barely a memory. Blink and he's gone. A vapor. Gone. Forty years and counting.
{Valentina Silver©️}
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