Deleted. . .

I apologize if this is not a poem.

I deleted your photographs today
Don’t ask me how could I move my fingers
I cried at each one of them
Your radiant smile penetrated my weary heart,
tearing it even more apart.
Your sparkling blue eyes reminded me
of all those moments of great love
Oh, how did it feel…!
As if they are still alive.
My hazy vision did not allow me
to watch them clearly any further
I was not ready to let them go.
But my mind declared
that I had to do what I had to do,
for letting go of you.
The images were telling lies anyways
So I dared to delete them.

Does that affect you darlin’?
Does that move you dear?
Oh thank you that you don’t mind.
But tell me what about those memories?
How can I delete them now?
That touch of your skin,
The smell of your hair,
The wine in your lips,
Your vulnerable glare.
And now you’re saying
that it was all fake.
You pretended the love
Oh, what kind of fool am I,
that I could not understand!
Show me the way, oh heartless beauty,
How do I forget?

And how do I delete the dreams
that I saw in days and night.
The dreams of being happy with you,
Fearless, endless drive.
I saw my unborn children
in your treacherous eyes.
What about those promises
Of vacation in Paris?
Or Venice?
If you never loved me,
then why did you allow me to love in return?
You are bound to answer to this,
Tell me,
How do I delete those dreams now?
And again,
Would you delete me from your memories too?
Or I was never there?

NaPoWriMo #19


3 thoughts on “Deleted. . .

  1. Somewhere near the end I thought about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Stubborn, but strong, a dose of resolve trying to rise above its own weakness.

    Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want, in order to bring to motion something that we want to happen, and change. Kudos for a raw, heartfelt poem.

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