Muse

Distantly I hear the lonesome echo of the early morning train as it rumbles down the track. The stillnes is interruted by the slight vibration of the train as it passes by not far from my home.

The house is so quiet the whispering sighs of my sleeping children can be heard mingling with the sound of the clock ticking on the wall. Every now and then the sound of a gentle snore will creep in from the other end of the house.

The crickets are quieted as the chill of winter has set in and the only other sounds that can be heard are those that waft in on the breeze from the nearby turnpike. The sound of the cars traveling through the night to reach their destination before the traffic consumes the highway causes my mind to wander to distant places. I wonder where they are going and what they are going to see when they get there.

I listen to the sound of my own heart beating as I pause between keystrokes and I realize that within all the silence is a calm that relaxes me. Still, I wonder how it is that in all the quiet I still cannot find the serenity that I once felt in my heart. Is it that somewhere deep within me I feel a sense of sadness at the loss of a love that only Spirit can explain; that love that is so rare that only once in a lifetime does anyone find it? I suppose that could be the answer. I pause again in the hope that the answer will somehow magically find its way to me, but alas, there is nothing; only silence.

My passion and desires are all wrapped up in the moments from my past that brought me such joy. He was the one that set my soul ablaze with passion, contentment, and laughter. He gave me what no other had ever given me; he gave me hope. Within this friendship a bond like no other was found. We traveled together in spirit though our feet were seldom on the same path.

Still, after all of this time, I feel as though we are intertwined, our spirits mingling for eternity. It is as though we are one and with each breath I take I feel as though I am breathing life into my memories. A stirring inside me causes me to sigh as I picture him so vividly I can make out the small imperfections of his skin and the strands of hair that gently touched the top of his ear.

I can see so clearly the sadness of his heart and yet it was clouded to others by the bright light of his laughter. I feel him as if he is right next to me whispering the words that I type tonight. I know that as I tap out each line he is guiding me. As he has always done, he will continue to inspire and enlighten me.

Merely Hopeless

Inside of me there is a sadness that burns slowly. My soul is wounded and scarred. These embers do not rage with fiery flames; No, they burn ever so slowly, torturing me from within. Love can cool the suffering, ease the pain, yet for me it continues to be an agony that I can get no relief from.

Typically, one could call me a hopeless romantic, now, they merely call me hopeless. The love that I have worked so hard to maintain is not love of the heart but a love of convenience. It is a comfort to others to have this steadfast woman watching over them, to see that she shall remain no matter the discomfort she may feel.

How long must I feel as though I am dying inside? My soul is shattered and I can barely breathe Some days it seems there is no reason to continue on. He does not see that he is the weapon that will rip the next wound into my spirit and destroy my hope. He does not see that he is the one that decides our outcome, not me.

How many times must I accept the lies as his truths? How many times must I be set aside in order for him to give way to selfish, lustful thoughts and fantasies? Surely he must know, at least somewhere inside of himself, that I love him and that the lies are far worse than the acts of fantasy infidelity.

How many times will I have to continue to take the blame for what I have not done in order for him to rationalize what he has done? His actions speak so much louder than his words. He speaks of love undying. He says that I am the only one for him and that he is amazed at the beauty that remains after all of these years; yet, I am not enough.