I pushed my way into the theatre
past throngs of people crowded,
pressed up against each other,
and took my seat among them,
becoming one with the faceless sea.
The stage lit up, your face shining out into the dark,
a beacon of light, unearthing memories, once laid carefully to rest,
with burnt hands and a heavy heart.
You sang songs to someone unknown, unseen,
and I remembered those nights
when you sang to me –
and I froze, something caught inside me
and stuck quick in my heart
and I remembered: winter nights
and strained relations;
freezing streets and sleeping bags;
arguments – then fervent protestations
of Love and promises to be kept.
I remembered moments that seemed
to stretch forever onward,
dark bedrooms and a warm body
that would lie next to me in times of deep distress.
But I don’t remember everything –
not the part I played, for it was horrible,
and I was horrible back then,
only now am I beginning to see
It was strange and it was terrible
being one of the eternal audience
watching – seeing, though being unseen –
passing by you in the lobby,
wordless and unknown:
no hint of remembrance;
no glint of recognition;
our last moment shared
in terrible silence.
And I rushed out quickly
with a strange and awful feeling,
But grateful – always and forever –
for what you taught me