Yet it was a time which passed, like all in one’s head.
I woke up one day to a figure by my bed.
She smiled a ‘Good morning’ as, tending to my pain,
I whispered, ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’
But, laughing sweetly, she chose not to tell.
Until I recovered, she was my Aniele.
Thinking I had dreamed the nightmarish affair,
I looked around at my home and my chair,
where blood stained the cloth and told me the truth;
and I realised I was far from my youth.
‘You’re not Aniele,’ I accused my carer,
secretly noting there was nobody fairer...
in this time.
‘I am who I am,’ was much of what she said,
as, breaking the fever, she patted my head.
‘It’s been six days,’ she gently informed me,
while attending to wounds which had promptly deformed me.
The irony of her words spent time in my mind,
as the years rushing by were slowed by how kind
was her care, her attention, her gentle concern.
Was there hidden here a lesson to learn?
We spent time together; it slowed to a crawl.
But lessons kept me again from giving my all.
Less now, less than ever before;
I could not love any as the one I adore.
And so, I decided to break from her glowing
and warm smile; her eyes ever knowing
that somebody else had captured my heart.
And I had conceded to remain apart.