How an amputee must feel like: a swell
Of loneliness in the sudden absence of things
In the ordinary. Like air, like limbs, like love
Vastly remembered only because they’re ghosts.
But I breathe still, and I am able to walk. Tell me
Instead how to keep full this empty, sudden knowledge
Of distance. Between moments and motions, I catch
Myself grieving for the secret loss.
We can chart this phantom geography: there will
Always be goodbyes, just as much as death comes
For everything. Winds wilt, flowers die down, lovers
Embrace away to pursue songs in other shores.
This morning, where I stood to catch the last glimpse
Of the bus that took you away, the street asphalt
Turned greyer where my shadows fell. Later, going
Home, even the silence obeyed and embraced parting.
I tell myself that tonight I will break inner ground
Scavenging through the depths without tears.
Here is coffee, here is paper. I will wake through
The evening quiet to exhaust in words what I miss.
In the morning, when the dull ache will be dimmer,
My prayer is to wake to you, your side of bed still full.
In the end, we all still believe in fairy tales.
I found this poem in an old blog I don't use anymore, and it was dated 10 September 2005. Such a long time ago. And I remember now what made me write this: I had just said goodbye to Mark as he boarded the Ceres bus that would take him to his first job in Cebu. We were both conflicted. We both wanted him to stay, but it was paramount that he must also go. And all of a sudden, I realize now: how life comes most definitely in circles or cycles, each trough more dramatic than the last. But this is essential, most of all, for those we hold dear to our hearts: to learn to let go, and accept the beautiful loss.