Daily Archives: August 12, 2011

I (don’t) Hate You

The evening taught me well, throwing away
the fistful of fires that lined my soul like
a blackened chimney, straining out the cares that
matter, the ones that are deep, the swells
of ocean that poured into my heart the day I
found you. A twilight conversation, tossing
away my torment, using that last bit of strength to
hold my self in tact, my brittle shell nothing
more than crumbling bits of ash now that you are
leaving. And my heart tells me to pretend I don’t
care, that the world has not just collapsed upon
itself, that the sprinkling bits of stars and heavens
have not just suddenly lost every meaning they’ve
ever had. And my heart screams! Hold your head
high! my heart says. Don’t let her know you care,
the heart shrieks and it rips through me to the
bone, leaving me splayed and open, bleeding into
the trough of my own misery, while every other
part of me longs to latch onto you, to capture
you like a firelfy in a jar, to keep you in my
life forever and let the warmth of your glow
soothe me as it always has. But I can’t. And so
I toss my cares away, like pennies into the fountain,
watching them sparkle through the waves, knowing I can
never get them back, never touch them again, never
feel them jangle in my pocket. Or hear your darling
voice, or hear your sweet sleeping breath after we
talked ourselves into exhaustion in the wee morning
hours. And so the pennies just lay there, on the
bottom of that sky blue painted pool, bigger and
smaller, bigger and smaller as the waves distort
them, my emotions burgeoning with each little ripple,
each copper glance, each beat of my heart. And I
will stand straight and tall and pretend that I believe
wishes can come true. But I know that they don’t.
And neither do you. But I’ll keep throwing pennies
into this fountain every day for the rest of my life.
Because I want to wish anyway.

© 2011 John Richter