Forgotten affair

I once thought love was a door 

you either stepped into 

or closed forever.

But now I know sometimes it’s a hallway. 

Long. Dim. Lined with mirrors that show you

not just who you loved,

but who you became in their arms.

And in his I became soft.

a river pouring into a man

who didn’t know how to swim.

I held his grief like it was sacred.

I folded my own grief 

into a pocket of silence

so I could carry his pain without noise.

I loved him with confusion.

With fire and with guilt.

But love is not proof of permanence.

And tenderness does not guarantee truth.

He left. Not cruelly, not abruptly, 

just like a shoreline receding, 

a season changing without fanfare.

And I stayed. Staring at the absence 

like it owed me something. 

Now I wake up differently.

Not healed, not over it, but awake now

Perhaps I have  finally turned around 

in that hallway and will walk 

towards the woman

who stopped waiting at the door.