deepundergroundpoetry.com

THE FIGHT

There is the 18 year old kid that still believes every single thing we ever said to each other was real because she was. That girl knows that you were real, we were real. The summer under the trees with nothing that could ever touch what we were together because we didn't even know what it was at the time. Laying in the dark, whispering about nothing and everything. Simply holding each other's hand, walking side by side, looking for the moon every single night, the entire world went away but you and her. The old lady in me fights to talk sense into this stupid girl. Tries to tell her that you are never coming back for her. Who meets their soul mate when you come from the life that we do anyways right? What such thing as unbreakable bonds, loyalty, and love can even grow from the concrete we lived on, the dirt war we fought in....anyway? The old lady whispers to that young, stupid girl who thought she would never be touched or broken in that way by anyone; "He will never return to you because he already accomplished what no one before, or since, was ever able to, he irreversibly changed you. He touched what no one else ever could, the deepest part of who you really are." I know that she must be right, I know she always makes so much more sense than the child does, but I just cannot seem to remember how to give in, how to let go, how to just let the old lady win. Because then I might be free. Then I might be happy. Or maybe, just maybe, the truth is, that if I let that old woman's knowledge win, I will lose the only true love I ever felt. The only thing I really believed in in my life. Even all these years later. The old woman gives me nothing besides another void to fill. The young woman at least gives me hope.