When I walk where we once walked, And realize they are but footprints in the sand, It’s painful. When I see things that we once saw, And realize that we weren’t seeing them at all, It’s painful. When I feel what you feel, When I hear what you hear, It’s painful. This life is no mystery at all, We weave a tangled web we feel we must destroy Rather than untangle even a single strand. We’d destroy such potential in the face of the work needed to uncover it. When I realize what you have given, And I look at all I’ve taken, It’s painful. When I realize all I’ve tried And failed to do, It’s painful. And when I see the beauty that could be, If only we would let it see the light of day, It’s painful. This pain is but a symptom, This time but gracefully fleeting, Yet my heart still sings out with unabiding truth, “I love you.” And when the song ends to nothing But the stilled silence of an empty theater, It’s painful. When the breeze cannot be felt, And the sun fails to warm, It’s painful. In such sweet melodies I see you, And in the song of Love I feel you, It’s painful. Someday this pain will end, But when I’ll never know. I lay here stripped bare, a nothing but a soul, Wanting, needing, pleading, resolute to its abandon. When tears can flow no more, And the sadness still remains, It’s painful. When faced with the realization, That I am not who you think I am, It’s painful. And when we do nothing but Endlessly replay the story and the roles to tired to survive, It’s painful. I cannot live in what was, And beg you return to this moment, See me, hear me, touch me, feel me, And know that this is now, not then. When I read this open book, And utter not one single act of fiction, It’s painful. When I utter not a single act of fiction, To be told such things are full of lies, It’s painful. To know this with every ounce of Being, And to see it with ever ounce of Awareness, It’s painful. I am who I am, not who you think I am, If there was ever but a single strand of love, See this truth and walk along with me, And discover if it was enough to hold your focus. When I am left playing in your expectations, A role for which I am not fit to play, It’s painful. When I see you struggle with the role That time and practice have bound you to, It’s painful. And in your absence I can see so clearly, What should be when you arrive, It’s painful. There is no role we must fulfill, Except to be true to our Selves, I am not this, and you are not that, We are simply beautiful when the blinders are removed. When I wake to meditate, And see the first rays of light atop the horizon, It’s painful. When I sit in stillness, But can only hear your voice, It’s painful. No sweet song is without your melody, No sweet sound is without your harmony, It’s painful. And yet I see a ray of light, A symbol of love not lost but desperately clinging on, Is this my fantasy or is it real? I guess only time will tell. And that itself is painful.