this pleasure in the silence of the sun and the breeze and the paper-soft dead leaves is only made because of the absence of you, for how could i stop and look and see the world around me when there is you to see instead. how to feel the breeze on my face when my hand itches to hold yours, to touch your cheek, your warmth. there is no room in me for the world when you are near. there is no room in the world for me when you are living in it so close to me. but here, alone in the park with the cobbles underfoot and the dancing death of so many leaves just waiting for that final rain, snow, wind to bring them off of their branches and into their sleep, here i can see what you had eclipsed. here i remember and know that without the shadow of you, the sun would shine not at all.
a pair of lovers stopped their chat as i walked through the gates of the park today. i did not envy them their togetherness. i pitied their noise in such loveliness as i saw all around me. they stayed silent, perhaps out of respect, more likely out of paranoia, such is the egotism of all lovers. and i walked free.
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