holding on

I was holding on
when you let go of my hand.
I was holding on
and like a child lost in a crowd
I waited on the spot
for you to come back.

I was holding on.
They told me you had gone forever
and I should let you go
but sometimes I heard you
call my name
and I missed you more, again.

It wasn’t the first time I was afraid of loosing you,
but I never believed it would be like this:
one long silent question.
You had all the answers
and I couldn’t let you go.
I was holding on.


What would she say?
Where is she now?
Is she thinking of me
as I am thinking of her?
Maybe she calls my thoughts?
I hold on tight
to nothing.
To words.
I keep my silent suffering
safe inside so no one sees.
It discolours everything.
What would she say?


I saw you today.
Your profile as you turned
burned on my memory.
I so wanted her to be you.
I know you’re not here.
They weren’t your eyes
that looked past me as
I felt aware of panic
with the realization
that my vision wasn’t true,
but I saw you.


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