I saw her walking away that day.
It was just the way a storm leaves you,
but finds you missing the rain.
Her hair fell on one shoulder
and I could see
she still wore that sapphire necklace
I once bought her
to match the endless sky
I used to love watching
in her eyes.

I remember she once gave me
the kind of words that left me
drunk, and teary eyed.
A jazzy buzz would grab my heart,
and there was dancing…
and there were marching bands…
with smooth percussion and steady beats
that would beat,
beat,
beat,
in the lushest shades of the crimson tides
flooding through my heart.

Those thoughts were yesterday’s song,
and I can still sing it,
but it doesn’t sound the same.
I can still hear that marching band
but it’s so far away it sounds more like
the dust that blows around in my chest.
And I’m not dancing anymore…
because my knees keep buckling under her name.

Now all I have are the tattered chapters
of a book I used to write my grandest dreams in.
It’s pages are old and worn,
and some of these pages keep falling out,
but I can’t seem to throw this book away.
The truth is that I keep wanting to
read the very last chapter.
Though, I now understand that I’ll never write it.

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