I had once said that
I love you more than
I could ever find a way to say to you.
And for some reason,
the urge grabbed me by the throat
to produce another futile effort,
words that sound as emotionless and hollow
as their black type on white paper,
to fail horribly at something
I knew I could never do.
I'm on the verge of throwing it all out,
just giving up on attempting.
But, somehow, I think,
if I try, I can do it.
So I'll try, for you.
When we first met,
I knew you'd say no
when I asked.
But for reasons I still can't know,
You said yes.
And it still floors me,
drives me near-speechless,
that you actually felt and feel like . . .
We talked, three-hour phone conversations,
irc until two in the morning,
whenever we were together;
and no one could understand
what the hell we were going on about,
but we did.
We could without saying.
And when things went bad,
when I left you, but you followed me.
And you were there when not a night
went by that I didn't cry myself to sleep,
when not a day went by that
I couldn't wake up in the morning.
But I tried, for you.
And you're here, now;
with so many things in my path,
it's hard sometimes
to actually see where my path lies,
with the underbrush
overgrown and tangled and twisted,
where the road before me isn't
much better than the one behind me
(by my own devices).
When I don't think I can do it,
when I'm frustrated and
oppressed by my own shortcomings;
then you appear,
coaxing, cajoling, encouraging
and gently prodding,
putting yourself down to tease me
into a semblance of self-confidence.
And I try, for you.
And there are the days when I'm acutely
aware that you're not here,
an absence I feel so strongly
it wounds me, cuts me to the quick.
Because you're not in arm's reach,
I can't reach out and touch your face,
I can't hold you close to me,
feel your heart beating beneath my hand,
your breath warm against my cheek.
Because you're everything that's worth anything,
you're music and sight and laughter,
you're colour and sound and light.
Without you, nothing is worth it anymore,
life is suddenly lackluster.
And these are the days when
nothing seems to go right;
I'm caught and lost in the
swirls and eddies of the everyday.
These days, these days,
I feel like everything I touch
turns and sours and disintegrates;
and I've lost all point to trying,
lost all point to crying anymore,
all point to continuing on now,
because, oh God, it would be so much easier,
so much easier to just end it.
I just can't take it a second longer-
and I see your face.
And I hear your voice.
And, for a second,
I see myself through your eyes.
So I try, for you.