Wishing Well Poem by Seamus Whittington Crawford III

In various parking lots along this journey,
you have been my unwilling sanctuary,
a place of escape from my other places of escape.

My river of words to you has become an epitaph for the scorned,
a testament to my fugue.
A bucket of dust for the desperately parched.

A mockery of itself and everything I've lain before you, risking all.

In low water and in high, I’ve reached out for you,
only to peer into the abyss - again and again and again.
Like pennies into shallow black water, your silence returns no echoes,
not even a ripple across the surface..

Too many trips back across the sand
have seared the fact into me:
we are now completely strange to one another.

That’s okay and I understand. I don't blame you, Annie.
As Charlie wrote:
'what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.'
And you've served a purpose for me.

You don't know how to be my friend, even if you so desired.
And acquaintance must naturally precede friendship.
Thanks for showing me that, Miss...what was your name again? ? ?

I will search this world until I find someone who
makes me forget about you, what might have been.
What could have been.

Wherever and whoever you are tonight, I wish you well.