land of thought — Hattie Adams

The land of thought

I cry and am wanting to be alone.

I do not cry for empathy,

as nothing can quench my solitude,

but for the comfort of crying alone.

As nostalgia heaves inside me,

the release wills that when it subsides,

the thing that bore it will be a myth,

a memory, or the memory of a myth.

Despite this vein effort to rid myself of yearning,

something is lost.

And I establish that I do not fail to love you as I did,

but fail to remember you exactly as you were.

Each memory breaking on the shores of consciousness,

seeping, forgotten, into the land of thought.

I will not cry for these memories again,

but there will be others.

Again and again, until I do not fail to love you still,

but fail to know you at all.