That Is The Question

by cknguyener

Sometimes I forget
that everything has changed.
That we’re not doing what we’ve always done–
that this isn’t just a very wide valley
before another amazingly high peak of ours.
Feast or famine.
We’ve had some long famines, and it’s about that time
that we would normally begin to prepare for our feast.
But there are no more feasts.
This is a forever-famine.
Endless,
like I thought we could be.
It’s like when Fortinbras arrives to the castle,
and the royal kingdom of Denmark is slain.
Was I Hamlet in all of this?
Ever-emotional, lost, and overthinking?
At least in the end he was carried out like a soldier,
with at least an ounce of respect.
I was tossed to the wind
like the end of a cigarette–
all used up and now useless.
The past 6 months sitting in an ashtray
since you decided to burn it all up
that cold, bitter night.
Or was it just me who was cold and bitter?
To forgive or not to forgive?
That is the question.
And if I chose to forgive, could I as easily forget?
I wish I could.
I wish these memories could remain untouchable,
unhindered.
But everything I thought of you is
tainted
by the one night, the first touch,
the last goodbye.
When I see you again, will it be the same?
Will I be able to remember the hurt in my bones
when you look at me with those eyes
in the way you do,
and say the stupid sweet things
you shouldn’t say but always do
when I least expect it?
Will I forgive and forget, make my way
to the highest peak,
and attend the feast?
That is the question.

Advertisements