Perhaps I have found some sense of clarity, perhaps not.

Difficult times for the sensitive kind

A package laid on the table; half open and half closed.
Inside was all that had once been between lovers, new and old.
I looked at her, she looks away and I contemplate its meaning.
Another unsuspected reminder of all that I have lost in dreaming.

I tell myself that I was too afraid, too young and too naive.
That being with her meant giving up on everything.
Alas any sense of truth is elsewhere, in another moment perhaps.
But seeing her again, across from me, makes me grasp for memories lapsed.

Eventually there is connection and her pain runs down my spine.
This expression is limitless, if only we could kiss, if only she could be mine.
I am reminded of how I once wrote a poem that would easily juxtapose this.
Dismissed as existential nature, while others say ignorance is bliss.

After our brief interlude between thoughts and selfishness.
I wonder if this path will lead me back to some sense of 'us'.
But currently I fear that the odds are stacking up against me.
And so I murmur 'is chance a game that even fate won't play?'

Tears begin to form from love, jealousy and pride.
The old question appears, ‘what would she think if I was to die?’
Duality hits and I consider myself both masochist and saviour.
But confusion overwhelms before I can reach an answer.

You see I have been drowning in depression and have lost sense of self.
Drugs, sleep, alcohol, detached sex and so forth.
And yes I know that these are difficult times for the sensitive kind.
But I still long for her to save me from the darkest corners of my mind.