Tougher now

Now,
In the middle of,
Winter.

I can,
Finally,
Begin,
To think about,
Last,
Summer —

And you;

And us.


Sitting here,
Looking out,
At the snow,
Falling softly,
To earth —

I am reminded,
Of the rain,
That fell,
Gently;
Wetting us,
As we walked,
In the garden,
In no particular hurry,
To get to no particular place,
For no particular reason,
Peculiarly content,
In each others,
Company.


Last night,
Listening to the wind,
Drive the ice crystals,
Against the window,
Huddled,
Deeply cozy,
Under the feather comforter,
Nested in the center of the bed,
Curled around myself,
Missing cuddling with you.


You opened your body,
To me,
I opened my heart,
To you,
You kept hidden,
Your soul,
From me.


That morning,
When I awoke,
Alone;
All that remained of you,
Was a pair,
Of drying panties,
Hanging over,
The shower curtain rod;
Too wet for you,
To have packed;
And an almost empty,
Coffee cup,
In the kitchen sink.


I caught myself,
The other day,
In the mall,
Waiting for you,
Outside that store,
You love,
With a dress,
In the window,
That would look,
Wonderful on you;
And it hurt,
Knowing I would,
Never see you,
Wearing it.


Someone said,
You can only be hurt,
In your heart,
By someone,
To whom,
You have opened your heart;
You hurt me;
It still hurts.

The hurt is beginning,
To scab over.

Scabs form a protective layer,
Tougher that the original was.

I will be slower to love;
Tougher in giving my love;
Slower to expose myself;
Tougher to hurt again.

I’ve grown.

But I still hurt.

And,
Likely,
Always will:
At least,
In remembering you.