The Old Lady

A while ago,

I realized,

I was not missed anymore.

 

That day,

I skipped work,

worried sick the boss would call.

The phone never buzzed,

though I held it tight alright.

 

My friends,

they loved a great party.

The latest grapevine was,

I don’t host them anymore.

I did get a letter.

Occasionally.

 

He said he loved me.

Got gifts from each country’s duty free.

I admired them in that big mansion,

showed them to the walls,

as they looked the other side.

 

So I sat

in a pavement,

of a nameless street.

Wondering,

when all this began.

When did I stop getting missed.

 

Then came an old lady,

if one could call her that.

Took a spot next to me,

coz I took hers unknowingly.

After a spell,

she said,

“I have nothing to me,

and for that fancy ring of yours,

I will hear your story”.

 

I did just that,

and she told me one thing,

“Would you miss the life you made,

for others to miss you so”.

 

I carry that line,

wherever I go.

And I never realized,

I wasn’t missed no more.

 

 

 

Love Is

Too many exes,

just one love.

It’s real,

a tad surreal.

I suspect a plot.

Eyes tuned in,

searching for cues.

They seem amiss.

Should I give up?

Give in?

Perhaps it’s true.

Perhaps all that’s said of love is true.

I am no pretty flower.

My petals are bruised.

Yet.

This feeling,

it’s in full bloom.

Nature’s startling hand.

Effortless.

Deep.

Sudden.

In disbelief,

I think,

“believer I”.