Soliloquy

It’s not you but a very close resemblance of your
scarf falling across your neck like a bent leaf trudging
across the windows of an old brownstone laced with rust;
it’s not you but the everlasting smell of teenage regret
and images of an unexciting and aggrieved past.

It’s not your voice but the shrill of the unending
cacophonies which have built their nest inside
my everyday life; it’s not your voice but the sweet calling
of a place we used to call home soaked in
the essence of a wondrous feeling called love.

It’s not your eyes but the mascara of regret tinged
with disbelief as I walk past your umbrae in the aisle
of despair; it’s not your eyes, I tell myself
as I refrain from looking at them with disused interest
again and wallow silently in the tears of separation.

It’s not you but just your shadows that I encounter
every day (both on the inside and outside); it’s never been you
but the shade of hope that resides deep within the abysses
of the cave called my heart never feels scared
to rear up and give courage another name.