It sometimes surprises me when I look back at the poetry I’ve written many years ago, and even those I just wrote a few months ago. I have this tendency to write poetry well when I am overcome with emotions, usually of the romantic kind, and most often due to unquenched longing, heartache, and rejection. Break my heart and I will find fuel to string words into poetry.
What surprises me the most is that many years after, the poetry still sound beautiful to me but the emotions that drove me to write them have disappeared completely. Sometimes the titles or the way they were written still remind me of who they are written for and why, but I have completely forgotten the feelings. At times I even completely forget who they were for. The bliss of the forgetful.
I am very optimistic that somehow I will soon forget about him. It has happened before, and I am capable of it I’m sure. He’s not even really worth the time and attention. And truly, he wasn’t worth the poetry.
P.S. The poem in the last post was because of him (whoever he is)