After Love – Teasdale
There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.
You were the wind and I the sea—
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.
But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.
When someone says they love you, does it not follow that they would, perhaps, wish you a happy birthday on the day that you turn twenty?
I wish there was a world in which I was not sad, or upset, or angry, or disappointed that it is nearly midnight and I have not heard from someone dear. I wish there was a world in which I could remain suspicious, un-trusting, at least of you. Yet I have the peculiar tendency to allow you to crack open pieces of my heart.
Please have an explanation that allows me to forgive you without seeming like a fool.