Learning the steps

Do you sometimes think of me

the way I think of you?

Full of despair,

clinging constantly,

every conversation on a continuous loop,

every moment burned into your soul,

my face in your mind's eye?

Do you?

Do you sometimes look at me

the way I do at you?

A glance full of treacherous love,

absorbing every little detail,

admiring every inch

like a building from the Victorian era?

Do you?

Do you sometimes listen to my voice

the way I do hear yours?

When thoughts roar,

when my tones become

a calm counterpart for you,

wrapped in peace?

Do you?

I know the answer,

but a no hurts more than a poem.

"Lily... After all this time?"

"Always"

by Emily Dickinson

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through – And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thought My mind was going numb – And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space – began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race, Wrecked, solitary, here –