This is the part of the diary
you did not want me to read.
I feel like an intruder
as I read about the times
we spent together.
How you beheld my eyes
what you felt
when we made love.
I am an intruder,
but you are gone
and I’m trying to hold on
to the vestige of what was.
I wonder about these pages ripped out
could you have done something
that hurt me. Perhaps a passage
of your deepest journey.
we each traveled tenebrous valleys
before we met.
The answer will never be given
I look at the torn pages
I see your smile in my mind
I put my face in my palms
as a tear loses control
and slides swirling
into the ink of your expressions.
I put the pages back in your black box
where I keep a lock of your hair
before it all fell out during chemo.
A photo of you
always thirty years old,
always beautiful
I place you gently in this black box
for eternity until once in a while
I open you and reminisce my perfect love
that ended at the promise of forever.
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