You have been my love, my light,
My muse, my inspiration,
My source of continued existence,
My receptacle of admiration.
Circumstances have divided us,
Grudges have been borne,
Between our love and your background,
You have wretchedly been torn.
I know you need to leave me,
I'm going out of my mind,
You want to return to the drawer,
And be with your kind.
So, go now my precious,
Take your liberating walk,
Rejoice at your new freedom,
Rejoice, and be a fork.
Apparently, the fork and I had no future. It loved me and my feelings for it have been well documented, but it was still a fork and all forks need eventually to be returned to their kind. No relationship with cutlery has ever worked. Some human-utensil relationships have lasted, but only with some minor surgery and blacksmith skills. So, I set my fork free. It still comes to visit once in a while, but there's an odd, vacant, glassy element to it's gaze. I've moved on. Really.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment