Remember when you woke up to my words
and I slept to yours? We didn't seem that far-off.
Our smiles still reflected on scratchy phone screens
and at some point we began placing our dreams
in pixels, late night talks about discovering Paris
and how everything seemed to end except us.
Last summer, within the walls of the Notre-Dame,
I bought you an embossed coin to send for Christmas,
and upon circling around l'Arc de Triomphe,
the only triumph I could find was imagining
the happiness that would radiate from deep within you
upon touching a piece from your dreamscape.
It's not yet Christmas and we're already far-off.
Your friends used to tease you about my presence,
how your laughter only rang true in the morning,
but I guess you don't smile to your phone anymore.
Our words are sculpted by natural etiquette now,
and our heads are heavy from hiding our thoughts.
The only time I sense happiness in your words
is when you talk about the new girl you met,
the one your friends so amusingly mark yours.
She reminds me of what I used to be to you,
just better, and even though I pushed you away
I can't help but ache for becoming old news.
A beautiful, heartfelt poem that captures a readers interest by her relatable sadness, the Huntress has wowed her audience with imagery. She not only takes us on a poetry journey, but an actual one, with specific places, helping us bring the feel of the poem to life. I also really love the layout of this poem, the lengthy(er) lines and thick stanzas, not something we see all the time here on the site. The Huntress has a really amazing way of using everyday language in her poetry, but giving it a lining of sophistication... it's shown here in the second stanza for me, which held most of the promise and feeling for me in this poem. I have read this several times and find something new and heartfelt each time I read it. Wonderful write!
One thing I absolutely love about your poetry (other than it's amazing awesomeness) is your ability to include SO much imagery, so many places, people, things, thoughts, emotions, and it not feel overwhelming. Overstimulating, of course, but that to me is good. You pack a punch with your senses, and this is exactly what I mean.
Your ending blew me away. The whole poem had such longing and soft sadness, but that ending with aching for becoming old news I think is something we can all relate to -- we want to be important to people, and when they move on, even if we want them to, there is still a little sting there. If only you meant MORE maybe they wouldn't move forward yet. But then, do we want them to be stuck? Of course not. So much internal battling happening here.