By Dot   

You can’t repeat the past.
Who says?
I repeat it every day I look into your eyes
And share your beautiful smile.

You are beautiful.
Thick, curly, brown hair,
Beard speckled with brown, auburn, and now grey.

But those eyes.
Eyes that melt my soul.
Eyes that bring me back to the first time I met you.
Eyes that display so much love,
So much pain, so much childlike admiration.

But you aren’t a child anymore.
Your beard shows that.
New creases on your forehead and next to your eyes.
I’m not a child anymore either
With my curves more defined and plump.
Eyes that replace childhood hope for pain.

Pain from losing you
Over and over and over again.
Each time I get you back I lose you more.
For it’s not just you I get back,
It’s my youth: that hope, that wonder, that love, that adventure.

I allow myself to hope.
Hope that things will change.
Hope that you will choose me.
I didn’t always choose you and there were foolish mistakes,
Ones that can only be made by a child.
But we are no longer children
And I choose you now.

Now that it is too late.
Now that you no longer choose me.
Now that all that is left are our memories
Of adventures, youth, and summer.

We go back to repeat that past
Of laughter, hand holding, legs tangling, lips puckering,
But we are imposters in our own lives.
Acting in roles we no longer inhabit
For a short while
Until you leave me.

Now I close my eyes.
I see the lone musician playing on the street
And I feel your arms wrapped around me.
I smell the alcohol, the debauchery, the recklessness.
I hear the jazz, the parade floats, the streetcar.

I open my eyes
To new surroundings, now familiar
But always foreign.
For my heart, my heart
Is on that streetcar, fading away with you.

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A love story repeated and lost