On passing a place I used to go, and the memories it offered…
I’m so sorry
for all the expectations I didn’t meet,
the flowers that remained unpicked,
for summers days that weren’t slowed down for.
I’m so regretful for the times that
I didn’t sit beneath those shady branches,
and understand that this was happening,
right now. And that if only
I’d have stopped drinking, swearing, defending,
then we might have smiled, more often.
You’re gone and your going allows me to know you fully,
in the evening scent lingering among crimson shadows,
my hand stretching…
there’s only air heavy with memories that whisper
of a man who never was.
I’m so sorry I rarely saw you,
that I gave you precious little chance to shine and be
the woman you could be.