Little Purple Book
Being honest with myself
I think we could survive
because all the pain I’m grappling with
comes from somewhere else.
I give and give and give some more
to get so little in return
so I couldn’t help but break apart
when you had to break away.
I don’t know if that means we
could come back together just like that.
I’d like to think I’d be able to
but I won’t let myself be weak.
There may be no recovery
for the bullets we exchanged
or the sacrifices required
to carry on.
I’m sorry but in this time of survival
I had to throw a lot of things away,
cards and notes, all of it really,
including our precious little purple book
passed back and forth,
a diary of our romance,
because the reality I need to prepare for
can’t get hung up on these heart-traps.
Just seems we failed to live up
to the beauty of the idea,
a damn shame for the final page;
a question of eternity.
All of it we could have again
if all the forces line up right.
If my argument was
that love would find a way,
what stops you from reflecting that
back upon my forgiveness?
Maybe my fight
is the answer to our riddle?
But first I have to make you prove your love
to me, and that’s where you will fail.
If I know you, you’ll get caught
on the best sides of me I showed,
assuming they’ll still be there, and they are
but they’ll be hiding away from you.
I won’t be the gentleman you came to know.
You’ll have to bring him back to life.
You won’t know how, because you weren’t wrong in this
and neither am I, a true tragedy.
And that’s why the final entry in our little purple book
is my conviction, passing it to the trash.
Hope and reality clashing. Truthful
This, sir.
Owned the last day.
And so damn prescient to my evening in ways I can’t or won’t explain today.
Thank you for sgaring. Seriously.