Two parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken —hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

Lord Byron

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And I don’t know how it crept in

The walls were almost up, fortified. The cement pressed firmly between the bricks, excess scraped away cleanly. And as I laid the last rectangle made of baked stone and sand onto the foundation—ever so carefully, even—it tumbled and crumbled and lay in rubble. All of it. All my work.

Plenty of blood, plenty of sweat. Now, the tears.

Your hand wrestles with mine in the dark. And now it grasps at the abyss that is my absence. It can feel like an abyss, can’t it? The loneliness. The late night/early morning communications that get lost in tears flowing down the shower drain as I try to get ready for work. For the day. For my life. Or maybe just the next moment.

Yes, just the next moment.

Not my image--found on Pinterest with no attribution