Me and You [poetry&etc]

To Me, You Were a Dragonfly

To me, you were a dragonfly: beautiful, but fleeting. And as I think back to our last days together, the most present, heavy feeling in my heart is regret. I am sorry, for I still do – of course – remember that day when you entwined our little fingers together, and said, 'Promise me this... that you will never regret a day of your life.' And I asked you, 'Why?' And your gentle eyes looked at me and said, 'Because, every day of your life has shaped you into yourself, and that is why I hold you dearest to me...' So of course, I agreed, and I promised you. But I am afraid that I have broken your promise...

And so upon hearing of my regret, you might ask, 'Oh... but why?' Of course, you are not here to ask. But it does help to pretend, sometimes... Well, I would tell you, it is because of my failure. My shortcoming. Perhaps the thing I have done worst in, most of all, in my life. Things, oh life, seemed to happen too quickly for me to gain a hold. Someone was bashing metal together and screaming (at me? At anything?) and I could not make sense of the noise, the movement, in time... and your sudden predicament made it so difficult for you, as well.

I wonder how we first met. To me it seemed as if we had lived forever. It seemed that way when I was with you, and it seemed as if we had been together, as well. I think we were made from the same dead star. And if not that... to each other it seemed as if we both appeared out of a shake of the lavender in the lavender field, waiting there until the timing was right.

My favourite time of day has always been five o clock – both the early and the eve. It seemed to be serene, a time both when no one was any place, and when the day was just finishing. There is too much to say, but it is not about you... So we went out together, at morn-five and eve-five, to be... to be. I remember... In the morning, the sun stained the darkness bright, and the flowers in the flower garden glowed bluely. The cold nipped at our skin, (a hungry creature!) so we pressed our skins together, knees, and fore-arms... Your eyes shined and you often drew me pictures of the flowers we saw. You said, 'Why should I be the one to kill them? Maybe, if I never picked them, they would never die...'