Valentines Day, for me, is the anniversary of meeting my husband. As that’s more than thirty years ago, you might think I won’t grasp the minutiae of relationship pain, or understand the complexities of love and regret. Think again, fact fans. I fall in and out of love with stuff (sometimes) on an hourly basis. My mind is fickle and ultimately terrible when it comes to snap judgements. Of course, I’m sensible enough to never show this in the Real World and all the angst conveniently leaks out into fiction and poetry. In this case, quite a lot of regret and hate’s been about in the last week, and it seemed sensible (and convenient) to remove all that angst in literary form.
There’s enough of this to fuel more than a single month’s worth of content, that’s for damn sure.
Regret
So many things, close
To beating heart: where do I
Begin our story?
At the start, belief
Honesty placed: your passion
Swallowed soul and mind.
The middle movement,
Soaring, reflective: leading
Onwards to coda.
Then, ending arrives;
Passion departed: becomes
Simply memory.
Regret is our love:
Beautifully broken piece
Of once perfect whole.
The Internet of Words 