November 11, 2011

time does not bring relief; you all have lied
who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
the old snows melt from every mountain-side,
and last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
but last year’s bitter loving must remain
heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
there are a hundred places where I fear
to go,—so with his memory they brim.
and entering with relief some quiet place
where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “there is no memory of him here!”
and so stand stricken, so remembering him.

-- edna st. vincent millay

tonight in the car I burst into tears, trying and failing to remember the very last time he said, "I love you."

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