Standing

I am standing here. Still. On the edge of the street
Where we once stood and I learnt to mouth the words,
“I could love you”.
I am still standing here. Always. On the corner of Dixon Street
Where your thoughts became actions that enfolded me into a
cocoon of loneliness.
Loneliness with you. With you.
You see, standing shoulder to shoulder with you
My heart beat to the rhythm of your absence of affection.

I am standing. Here. My world is full of everyone else but me.
My mind is running. Sprinting on a treadmill of yearning.
Yearning for a glance from your soul.
Your empty soul. Poor soul. Wretched. Desolate.
Cars whizzing past and playing songs I thought I knew.
I know nothing. I feel everything.

I was standing here. But now I am gone.
I am lost in torrents of words.
Words with lots of weight and no depth.

I was. Standing. Still. Here.

Frank Malaba © 2014

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