If i were to write you a symphony,
   it'd be nothing more than notes on a page
i could always sing it for you
   do do do do do do
but that won't do me any good, since you're
 not here
   to hear it
and so i could write it for you, if
   you understood music, or if 
i knew how to write it.
   so you'll just have to read my words aloud
and listen with your heart
   and maybe you'll understand what i'm feeling

i still haven't forgotten you
   although i have tried
but forgetting, requires a lack of thinking
 and to not think about something
 to think about not thinking about it
well, that's an impossibility
 and so, i still think about you
i have your picture pasted on the inside of my eyelids
 and on lucky days when i don't
as luck would have it - i think 
   to myself
   as myself is the only one i think to
(i think to you, but you rarely answer)
i think to myself how i'm not thinking of you
and then, there you are
scrawled across my mind like notes on a page
   meaningless and incomprehensible
yet beautiful if one can understand why they're there

i don't particularly want to see you
   you've migrated from my heart to my mind
two of the things you thought to myself you loved
and i don't want to ask you why
     i don't really care why

i'd love to have you in my life
 to see you, hold you
     remember why i used to smile
either way, it doesn't change me
   i'm not grieving anymore
i'm just going to stay here in my own life
   stay away from yours
if yours found me, i won't fight it
finger my guitar in harmony with yours
 playing for you my symphony
even though you'll never
 be here
   to hear it.

a e fisher, 2001

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