In My Mind's Eye

Kryptonite

They're fading.

Every one of those memories that I've played on repeat in my mind,

For so long,

Like a matinée movie in a glorious golden sepia...

Of the night you plucked me that red winter rose,

Granting me my infamous pseudonym,

At the strike of Big Ben's midnight.

The night you dubbed me "akin to love itself,"

On that park bench in Bakersfield,

When the moon seemed to smile with you,

And the fireflies convened around us in a halo,

Bidding us never to say goodbye.

But you're just a glass half empty of compassion,

Weaving through the universe's enigma at the speed of light,

Orbiting the world,

Popping in and out of existence faster than a bipolar electron.

And I'm nothing compared to you.

I'm a glass half full of anxiety,

Flooded to the hyperbolic brim with naivety,

Washed up on the shores of this oligarchy,

Marred by my own cruel idiocy.

I'm rigid.

Always molding myself into the "correct" meter,

Soldering myself to the societal standards,

Restricting myself to rhyme and reason,

For no recognizable rhyme or reason.

Whereas you don't see people as people,

But rather as a collection of actions, regrets, declarations.

What was it you used to call yourself again?

Sociopathic, self-destructive, facetious?

But what are a few misfiring neurons in the grand scheme of things?

For, the way I see it,

You can still eclipse the Moon, Sun, Earth,

And every single godforsaken galaxy,

With one small gesture of your beautiful, broken mind.

And at some point along the way,

I lost the ability to think,

I grew restless,

Unable to speak without whispering your name,

Unable to breathe without dedicating the smallest flare of my quivering lungs to you,

Unable to remember the very reason I wake to see that blinding sun,

A fat mockery of the only real star I knew,

Rise to scoff at me again.

At some point in our failed journey,

The purpose of my life became so intertwined with you,

That, at least in my perverted view of reality,

We were one.

And it started out serendipitous,

A rebirth of all romanticism,

Enlaced with enlightenment,

Submerged in sublimity,

But when you left,

It became nothing short of,

Pathetic.

They're fading.

Every one of those memories that I've played on repeat in my mind,

For so long,

Like a matinée movie in a glorious golden sepia...

Of the day you told me we could never be,

Not because you thought you weren't good enough,

Not because you loved me so much that just looking at me wrenched your sanity from you,

Bit by broken bit,

But because you apparently never really cared that much.

And I can't help but realize at this point,

How my preferred form of therapy is your Kryptonite,

And that maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved.