Time Passes

Never mind, my love!
One could cry all day,
realizing what we no longer have.
but believe we once had.

I've no imagination,
at least not enough
to keep up with your incessant changing your mind-
I'm always two or three days (or weeks!) behind.

I try to remember
the desires I once felt,
yet still can't conceive
of others doing what we used to do together.

Though I no longer love you,
I can't believe you have ceased to love me.
Or did you ever?
Or did I ever?

Being happy without thinking-
Is there any other way?
Did we once love each other?
Or was "our love" only habit?

The heart never tells.
It's the mind that rebels,
or the body that cringes,
the equipment that won't inflate.

Did we almost "have it all"?
Didn't we used to frolic together?
Why did we start thinking about our "relationship"?
Was it the envy of others?

Trying to analyze what others envied,
what the imaginations of those wanting love coaxed,
looked at, looked after,
Did our love die under glass?

You had ambitions for our love,
so, I suspect,
what you proffer now as grief
is only wounded pride.

Did you love me?
Or "our love"?
Could I, too,
have been in love with love?

Yet you are not dried out,
like a petal pressed between pages of a book;
I'm looking at you,
... but not with the same eyes.

You closed your eyes when I kissed you,
saying you saw no one but me.
Now you're comparing,
imagining living elsewhere, living differently.

I don't like these thoughts,
I never used to have them,
don't want to live differently
don't want to love if loving is without you.

Perhaps,
the neighbors are right,
saying,
"They think too much!"