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The little things
 

I tried to leave her but I couldn't, We held hands for

What felt like hours and probably was hours before

Either found the will to speak. I held her cold worried

Face in my hands and looked deep into her eyes, eyes

Once so captivating, once so longed for, and once so

Precious they were to die for, and now here they were

On the receiving end of goodbye.

 

But I couldn't let it happen, much as I thought I wanted

To leave I found myself trapped by a conveyor belt of little

Things. Parading in front of me came the day we first met,

Near a church with a great ornamental gate, her parents

Who thought me wholly unsuitable for their daughter, the

Trembling fingers that first drew mine to the top button

Of her blouse, the ruined meals, the tears, the laughter

And the tangeriny smell of Christmas.

 

There was no end in sight as one little thing after another

came to mind wrapping themselves around me like a blanket,

Whereupon I found myself weakening further in resolve, how

Could I do this to this girl? The past was the past, but the past

Was our past, the tears our tears, and for the life of me I couldn't

wrench myself away, I couldn't leave this girl to go through life

Regretting every moment of our past, a joint union that had once

Been so strong as to give life to love, laughter and compassion,

And if truth be told, take so long to retell.

 

The moon peered from behind a cloud illuminating two very

Confused people sat at a bus stop long after the last bus

Has gone. Moonlight fell on her tiny hands clasped on her lap,

So small, so frail, and yet, so very brave. I looked into her eyes

For forgiveness and thought I saw a glowing cinder that if blown

And coaxed with the lightest of kisses might suddenly burst

Back into flame.

 

What body heat we had we shared, my drawing her closer than

We have been for a long time. I lifted her face to mine and there

I saw the spark again. 'Will you be leaving tonight?' She asked

Plaintively, 'No, my love, I will not be leaving tonight, or any

Other night, there are too many little things I need to attend

To.' Our lips met for what felt like hours, and probably

Was hours.
 

© Joseph G Dawson