late one valentine's night
i read your emails for the first time in years -
no longer digital but printed and dog-eared
and full of a younger man's older hopes.
though we both remain who we were then -
captured on paper, preserved in ink -
who we were then we can never be again.
i still see you sometimes
when our continents collide
maybe once or twice a year
and i remember and remind you of your words,
enthralled at how our worlds diverged
and how i'd hoped they could always stay the same
in my dumb, naive, romantic way.
i still see you sometimes,
but it's never long enough
to recapture what was lost - the last time
on a wet and windy norwich afternoon
just minutes before i had to catch my train
(my past derailed once again)
to pass through my old homes -
but it's enough to share the smiles
of all the miles i never thought we'd gain
from all the things i never thought would change
but that i knew deep down could never stay the same.
so late one valentine's night
in an ever romantic daze
i read your emails for the first time in years,
your words low-lit, lying loosely on my desk,
our traumas waiting to unfold.