I found my poem again. On the net.
I cried again. Not so much about him or even us, really. I know that story has ended. It ended so long ago. Longer than I cared to realize. But I cried for the girl I was. For that girl who was so in love. So trusting. So full of faith. I have no regrets. That girl has become part of me. And her tears have added and not diminished (as I said in a previous post). Today, what I need to learn is not so much how to love with all my heart but how to receive love in equal measure.
SEVEN YEARS LATER, DRIVING HOME
by Justine U. Camacho
It is impossible to fall in love again
for the first time.
The first blush, the heart quickening,
racing madly with a secret:
these things happen only once.
Yesterday, in the car,only half-listening to a song,
And in my mind, I turned around.
If I had known that I would never
see you again.
If I had known that afternoon in August,
I would have stayed rooted there.
Nineteen yet and dreamy.
I felt the years deaden me, one by one.
And all the headlamps around me
It was so sweet,
even to feel
that wound again.