A Letter to Myself
It’s one of those nights.
One where the stars are too still in their orbits,
And I can imagine the scent of your perfume
Lazily wafting its way around the room,
And a love song – French, because those are the kind you liked best –
Is lingering in the air,
A mere whisper
Competing with the sounds of the rain
Tapping its melody upon the windowpane,
And the train hurtling through space and time,
Carrying me far from where I was,
Yet bringing me no closer to where I meant to be,
And the fruits of my youth lay wasted at my feet,
And a kind of melancholy that only visits me when I think of you
Like a cloak I put upon shoulders so that I can wear your sorrows,
If only so you can dream a dream of peace, tonight,
Has taken hold,
And I burn and yearn to make right my wrongs,
To make my peace with my Gods,
And I sit here, staring into your soul,
So revealed in the brights of the eyes I see reflected back at me,
And I pray for both of our salvations,
And I blink and you are gone;
One of those nights
When I wish I could take wing
And travel back through time to be where you are.
It’s one of those nights.