One day I will no longer search for you in the endless sea of faces
One day I will discard my shroud of self
pity and regret
One day my dreams will be free of you
One day you will just become someone
I used to know
But one day.
I tore this poem out of a magazine in a doctors waiting room nearly three decades ago. I remember I was sitting with my father, and once I read it, I had to have it.
I've kept this poem, all folded and creased, in a very special place for all these years. You know, where you keep your special treasures that may not mean anything to anyone else, but so significant to you.
I don't know who wrote it, or why, and I don't want to know. For some reason it resonated with me, and I've thought about this poem over the years in the most random places. At the traffic lights, or while out walking or when waiting for sleep to take me.
Did the author have such a deep longing for someone, to evoke such powerful words?
Was a cherished soul lost, never to be found?
This is why it haunts me so...and that is the beautiful mystery that I love.....