I. Tramonto
Of the Fading Sunset
March 2007, age 16
I.
Rouged by the blush of a retreating sun,
Blemished only by clouds - as a veil - to shade her night's repose,
The heavenly blanket drops.
The chorus of voices, speaking of sea demons and illusionists,
Of unrequited love and illustrious powers,
Fades to nothing. Glances out the window can't prove
Whether you care for my concern.
Or not.
II.
You told me goodbye, granted me a heartfelt wish for personal enjoyment.
You whispered that you'd miss me, expressed frustrations at my departure.
You hoped that I would return, to consult with you once more.
Yet as I hesitatingly fingered the ninth digit on my decrepit old phone,
I could only picture you sitting amongst your friends - laughing and chuckling
At the foolish and wistful feelings
That I try to express.
III.
Fleeting daydreams. Haunters
Of a tiny beach house, lit only by candles.
Pressed fingers against mine:
Perfect. Matchless. Unique.
I'm through with waiting.
Goodnight.
About the Poem: I had my first brush with a girlish crush at the age of 16, when I fell for a sweet-talking boy as we slayed demons and raided castles in a massive multiplayer online game. During a retreat with my theatre troupe, during which we practiced lines for our production of Ondine (by Jean Giraudoux), I kept on contemplating whether I should call him for the first time. To hear his voice. To bask in his husky laugh as he would tell me, "You're foolish for caring this much." In the end, I never did hit number nine on my speed dial. And I am all the more better for it.
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