To Whoever Finds the Bouquet I Left to my Lost Lover

I left the roses roadside.

We said bye many times,

this might be the last

I smell of sadness.

 

Let’s swim in the sea

Let’s dance on the grass

Let’s go where we’ve never gone,

Do what we’ve never done

 

I left my hopes roadside.

I drive back the time,

day and night

sleepless, you and I.

 

Let’s rewrite our time

Let’s laugh, you and I

I left a part of me roadside.

 

I am lost in LA. There are waves of happiness and sadness. But I meet an old friend. We smile, laugh, and talk about life. I meet a family and laugh with their kid. They seem relieved I gave him a toy to keep from being so antsy. I realize this poem makes it sound as if I’m in some stuffy room, bawling. On the contrary, I’m in a brightly-lit, spacious café. I’m with fellow writers. I imagine LA runs on the multitudes of cafes like some kind of mitochondria packed with sad, creative types. I was stopped on the street by a stranger wanting money. He pleads that he needs money to get home, to Thailand. I say no. He is angry, but he asks for a cigarette. I obliged. That I’m willing to share. “Fuck you,” he storms off smoking. I smile, “Have a nice day.” I think about you a lot. Writing helps me accept that I have no control whether you’ll come back. I gave us one final, impotent try that resulted in some kind of fuckery only I’m capable of. It was wrong on my part to try – I know, but I had to try. I wanted to be wrong… You’re right –I can’t make you come back because it’s not what you want. I miss you and I hope you sleep well and find some peace of mind soon.

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alanwrites

unadulterated writing straight from my head entiendoenglish@gmail.com