All Things End

I am tired, Beloved,
of chafing my heart against
the want of you;
of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
~Amy Lowell, "The Letter"

You've been showing up in my dreams again.  I close my eyes, go about the business of putting the day away, folding all the little pieces neatly and storing them in their respective drawers and cubbies, and there you are, sitting calmly, watching from a distance.

Quite frankly, in light of the fact that you're not a part of my life anymore, it is in poor taste.  Declasse. A little gauche.

The truth is that I have no intentions of walking down that path again.  There is just nothing at the end of it, concrete and ashes, an empty parking lot with leaves scuttling across its broken surface.  And, no, that wasn't always the case, but whatever was good is gone now.

It's okay.  Gloria Gaynor has a song about it, and she's right.  All things end.  That doesn't mean that I have to go with it.   I just need to get a little more discipline when my eyes close, and all will be well.