I tried to mold the air between us
into shapes and shadows of staggering nuance
and came away with brittle words that snapped and echoed without remembrance.
I aimed to raise my brow to the finest arches of sophistication
and came away night after night as a startled mongoose once bitten.
I posed and preened and roved the lands for an adventure to share
and returned frost-covered and lame-legged from the journey.
I tried, but apparently keeping my silence throughout was not the right option.
And so I turn tonight and walk against the tide of my heart,
and find myself a child crying in the backyard
because my favourite toy fell into the mean old neighbour's yard,
and I'm certain I'll never see it again.
Never will I hold it in my hands,
nor know again the sheer joy of having it for my own
no matter the all-knowing consolations of my parents,
(with their omniscient confidence in the ways of the world)
I stand eternally bereft.
Never is a kind word. It means that now is the worst it will ever be.