A.E. Housman
Oh, when I was in love with you,
Then I was clean and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
How well did I behave.
And now the fancy passes by,
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they’ll say that I
Am quite myself again.
Sometimes, the need to cry is sudden and insatiable. It crawls out from beneath the laughter and happiness that has just started to feel normal, rather than arbitrary, and it grabs hold of you. The worst part is that you never know what exactly triggers its arrival. Those familiar notes, the alto of his voice looming softly. The smell of my shampoo, wondering if it will ever smell as sweet as it did when my head rested beside yours. As I cook your favorite meal, adding each ingredient, and wishing you were standing beside me. Soon, it becomes easier to count the things that don’t remind me of you, but even that seems to leave me shattered- the shards of my own regret, cutting me deeper. It’s an optical illusion of pain that my heart falls for every time. Like those stairs that look so perfect, but really lead to nowhere. And when I was with you, I was perfect. I was prematurely brave and arrogantly presumptuous. Wonder did grow, plentiful and fragrant, like gardenia in the spring. But, the beauty turned blinding and the fragrance left me sick. That much adoration should never be bestowed upon a mortal. Their human nature will only serve to disappoint if it is to be compared to the thralls Eros. What’s to be expected after that? Maybe one day I will be quite myself again. If I can remember who that was…
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