The Fool That I Am

And yet I stay glued to the past, in the comforting shadows 

Of your love, or perhaps, the mirage of it.

Trying to get ahold of you, chasing those shadows or perhaps,

Chasing the impossible, hounding for the last remnant 

Of your affection to coddle it to my chest,

Like the fool that I am. Mock at me, I know you would, but

I do not know of an anodyne as soothing as your existence, or perhaps,

The apparition of it. 

Cradling to my soul, I reminisce all those moments,

I felt we had shared, whilst bitter tears streak down my face,

The salty residue is a stark contrast to the euphonious melody of your voice,

Echoing in my heart, or perhaps, the phantom of it.

It may be that I had been chasing dandelions in the wind,

Your love, your affection, your feelings, all fading away

With the winds of time, with the winds of a jilting,

As though they had never been there, as though nothing had ever existed.

And still, I stand there, battered with stabs in my back,

And the heart in a thousand shreds, still waiting for you,

The fool that I am.