Picking up on a theme I referred to several days ago about the synchronicity of posts she makes that seem to respond in some ways to posts I’ve made, I live with the fantasy of an imaginary conversation between us, this sad dream that somehow, we continue to communicate long after she made it perfectly clear she wants nothing to do with me.
It is pure delusion on my part to think otherwise.
If there is an unconscious element in all this, it is mine – since my posts may well seem innocent and innocuous, unrelated on the surface, while underneath, each bears the scars of the last year whether I am consciously aware of it or not – while her posts for the most part (particularly lately) have nothing to do with me. There are no secret messages hidden in the text in response to what I post, and to think otherwise is a form of madness.
Early on, she once called us kindred spirits, and perhaps in some fashion we were or maybe still are. Despite the difference in our ages, we share many similar interests and use our art to convey inner feelings we often would not express more openly otherwise.
But my fantasy is dangerous because I truly want to retain some level of connection, even if is a remote as my posting a poem and having her post one in response – when, in fact, I know it is not the case, and merely my reading into her word’s things not really there, or at least not connected to anything I have done – at least lately.
I believe she used many of the poems she posted over the summer as communication with me, but as the year came to an end and her life as moved on, I am the last person she would speak to, poetically or in any other fashion.
As the old disclaimer for movies and books goes: any such resemblance is merely coincidence – no matter how much I wish it was otherwise.
An honest assessment of her recent poetry shows a different and more personal turmoil, and if she is sending messages through these poems, these are aimed at the man she currently loves, and not some phantom of the past.
I’m sure she knows I read her poetry, just as her Brooklyn stalker does, and perhaps those people who loved her prior to him. In that sense, she is sending a progress report, the up and down of an emotional thermometer by which anyone who reads her poems correctly can assess her current condition.
Her most recent poems talk about her need for love, a sharp contradiction to poems she posted prior to our meeting when she spoke about the folly of pursing love, yet how when it works, it works fine.
A romantic at heart, she tends to disparage love during those times when her pursuit of it has led her to a dead end, and yet still hasn’t given up on it, as the last line of her most recent poem attests to.
Her poetry is a window into her soul, and I will regret the day when she ceases to post it, shutting the last window into her life.
I’m sure I won’t be the only person disappointed when that happens.
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