What about now?

Night time imposes on me as I write by the light of the candle sticks.
Their resonating light keeps my fingertips warm.
Recollections of warmer winters and sombre summers fill my senses.
I long for those stormy August afternoons, and those sunny winter mornings.

What about now?

It is all gone now, gone with the wind
and I find all these things are changing,
changing like they should have years ago.
I was ready for it then, but I can no longer accept it now.

So what about now? Is this how it ends?
With questioning answers, and questioning questions?
Do we leave it like this and just move on?
You won’t let it go back to the way it was before.

What about now?

I sit here in noise, but the silence surrounds me,
and I close my eyes until they are wide open again.
My heart thumps – barely, hands stutter the words across the paper
and my emotions take over the guarding post.

What about now?

Opening the flood gates of a million years worth of torture,
I know you are no good for me,
but it is much like telling a toddler they cannot have milk.
The stars say ‘yes’ but the gods say ‘no’.

What about now?

Stuck to this table, writing by candlelight,
writing of recollections where the winter was not so cold,
and the summers could be stormy, and I did not mind.
I did not mind the August storms or the sun in my wintery window.

What about now?

Now I long for those good ol’ days, where we would laugh about things so insignificant,
how I would be excited for the weekends to come, and no weather could keep me down.
There were no questioning answers, or questioning questions.
There was no silence to smother me.

What about now?

It is sad when the people you know become the people you knew;
how you act like nothing even happened, like we never existed.
Night time imposes on me as I write by the light of the candle sticks.
I long for those stormy August afternoons, and those sunny winter mornings.