This morning, after the golf, I went to the gym, and was there at a time when many of the people were there who knew Gwen when she would go to workouts there with me. In a funny sort of way I find myself resenting their presence and their well-meaning attempts to engage me in conversation. I'm just not ready for that yet, and I don't quite know how to handle it, so, I avoid it, but it's deeper than that, as this poem tries to describe:
I LOOK AWAY
I can’t look them in the eyes,
those who wish me well,
I’m not usually rude like that,
I just can’t do it—
not yet, I feel like
when they see my eyes
they see my soul, and
my soul’s not ready for that,
not now, it still feels pain
every day, every hour, every breath
I take reminds me I’m alive
and she’s not, here with me.
It can’t be hurried, or rushed.
The precious loneliness can’t be shared,
discovered, with a glance, a look, a stare.
I have no choice, I look aside,
I look down, I look away.
Better to be rude.
John A. Bayerl, March 27, 2011
A long time ago you said these words to me: I love you and will always miss you when you're not with me. Forever. I wish we didn't ever have to be apart. Now it is I who says those words every day; not in a melodramatic way, but simply stating a fact, I miss you and wish we didn't ever have to be apart. But we are. We are. That's just the way it worked out, and now we're into the forever part.