A Mystery To Me

What she thought of all I’d just said

Would remain a mystery, as so much

About her remained a mystery to me,

Since that most wretched day when she

Told me she didn’t want to see me

Anymore. She might not even open

My message and read it. I certainly

Didn’t expect a reply. It was like groping

In the dark every time I tried to talk

With her. If she was there, listening,

She was deathly quiet, ready to walk

The moment I came too near.

Time heals all wounds, they say,

But perhaps this was more serious

Than a wound. Perhaps it was

A permanent rift. How sad

That would be, for me. Because,

If true, I had lost what was dear.