No.A Poem by Tobias H. ReeseHemmingway says you can't come back, but Neruda says you will....
I would tell you that I've missed you, but that would be a lie. I would say "Every thought has been of you" but that would not be true. I would pledge that, “Never a day shall pass again without my being near you…”
but it isn't true. I am not bereft or dying.
I have not missed you. I must tell myself.
I haven't shaken down apples two by two because that is what we used to do, I haven't watched an airplane drift away till it was gone, imagining someone suffering within it.. swung from broken boughs bent back toward a childless Earth.
I haven't missed you. I must tell myself and believe.
Like youth watching a minute hand rushing in slow-no-motion towards a ghostly birthday party, I haven't glanced compulsively at my phone irrationally, neurotically watching for your call. Nor- in this evenings age of transcendence- would it bother me to have missed the call should you have made it.
Your shadow remains in the kitchen doorway Long after the long black walk to evermore. My shadow gave up, went back inside to spread icing on a piece of liver, and remain on terra firma. I haven't felt emptiness or loneliness stretched out like a barren beach. I haven't watched our river carry paper boats away, nor regretted having cast them from our reach..
I have not missed you. I have not missed you.
I haven't debated with myself over emailing you just to tell you of something silly, without affection… I haven’t ill-fated a bloody letter in the guise of a random “Hello” just to delude myself a proxy connection.
I haven’t thought back how your hands stirred tomato soup as I chopped fresh cilantro while we chatted about .. Well…you know that special chat. I haven’t thought about that. I …never… think back upon that. No repressions, or revived self transgressions... None. I haven't thought of curly locks or bitten lips or chuckles from a cloud. I haven’t fantasized road trips to mountain tops, Nor have I cursed aloud.
I haven't closed my eyes or wished that, upon them opening, you could still be here.
I haven't. I haven’t.
I haven’t heard a million thunder strummers Soul drumming near the levees of my sanity; I haven’t felt….oh what is the use?!?!
Enough!! Enough!! Enough of this!! . . . Besides, if a heart breaks while no one is around, does it make a sound? Do trees weep forever dying As roots rotted, come unwound?
Why should this matter? You see, I have not missed you.
I must tell myself. And believe.
And no tune nor prose or vague smile from a stranger (even that one whom resembled my late friend) can wed my eyes to care… No thinking back of love-attacks can plant my spirit there.
I have not felt anxiety creep dire down into my stomach nor have I sobbed like a fool, I have not listened to wind swept songs in my mind and I have not missed you. I have not… missed you.
It would be the greatest- the most tragic lie one could hear in fact- to utter those simple words. I must tell myself.
and so I do. . . . But I'll not tell you...
No. Where ever this universe has placed you, you will not hear these words from me.
Besides, you wouldn't believe that the counting of apples; or paper boats or birthday party count-downs could exist without you by my side.
or worse
You might even return a whisper through a veil or scribbled stone: "I've missed you too".
and I would know
that you were lying.
© 2016 Tobias H. ReeseAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on January 4, 2016 Last Updated on January 10, 2016 Tags: Pablo Neruda, Sylvia Plath, Robert Frost, Earnest Hemmingway, Dylan Thomas, Richard Wrigth, Nikki Giovanni AuthorTobias H. ReeseMebane, NCAboutTobias H. Reese is an artist. His primary mediums are video, music composition, prose, sound-paintings, photography and filmmaking comprised from each of the above. He is a luthier (instrument maker) .. more..Writing
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