More than Nostalgia

I wonder, as time passes,
if the good times will feel good again.
I wonder if I'll ever think of that time with you and smile
at my unreserved adoration,
and the way that you received it like a gift.
So hesitant to touch me.
So happy with me in your arms.
Our subtle fall
was better than anything I've ever known.

I wrote a poem about your skin.

But that was years ago.
What makes it end for one and not the other?
All I wanted was to start us over.
(But not to fuck it up that time).
Our whole beginning,
the butterflies and sweet intentions.
Not what happened later on.
The hateful looks.
The hands around my neck.
The things I used to scream at you.

The things I left unsaid.

Still, I focus on the good.
Those memories are what hold me here.
That fear,
that they will always be the best I'll ever know.
And if I let them go,
I'll lose my memory of love.
And all that's left will be what I feel now.
Better the empty ache than nothing at all.
Better the pain than loss of hope,
or to forget what hope was even for.