The Love Of Your Life Poem by Sidney P. Roberts II

The love of your life lives not too far from here. Really, she does. It’s just out the driveway, to the right a few minutes, then a left, and another left. You see the bar on the left, and if you’re like me you remember and smile for a second. Then you make two rights and pull over. You can see her truck there below. It’s ruggedly pretty. But you can’t get too close. So you park above and walk on down the grassy slope and press the doorbell, ding. She answers wearing a white robe. You’re nervous. She does that to you but won’t believe it when you tell her. She didn’t always do that to you. But that’s how it goes. It's that way now that you do not have her. I guess you never really know what you have until you no longer have it. That’s what they always say anyways. And I hate it but they’re always right.

Then “Time, time, time… See what’s become of me…” That’s from an old rock song.

Time passes and you never see her. But sometimes once in a while someone mentions her, or you see a white truck or her name comes up in conversation. They know she means something but don’t realize how much. They know she means something but they’ll never admit it, at least not to you, or any government background checker. So even if they’re not really your friends, at least you know they are good for something. So you ask them about her in your best undercover acting. And how did she look? Well, she looked just fine. Tell her I said hello, will ya? And how is she doing? Well, she’s doing just fine. She sure is. And she’s working where now? Oh really? Well that should be good for her. She should like that. And you miss her for the hundredth time that day. But you hold it in and they never know. At least most of them don’t.

She lives over there, the love of your life, not too far from here, on a street that’s named after lightning struck on wood. And you wonder about her. You wonder whom is she holding and who is holding her? Someone must be. And you can hardly stand it. You wonder does she ever think about you and a tear rolls when you consider the answer. No, she probably does not. So to take your mind’s frown away, you breath deep and you remember those summer days. Your heart was young and you just didn’t know it. So much bliss. It is not fair that time was so short. Life is not fair.

Even more time passed and maybe then you saw her once again. Maybe a sinful evening by chance and 30 minutes worth of planning. Maybe she was ten minutes late and you were thankful because you had more time to ingest the liquid courage. And why is it sinful, anyway? Maybe you never had a better time in your life, except with her. To look into the eyes of the woman you love, to have your arms around her, to smell the perfume, to feel your cheek against hers. That smile. Those eyes. The heartbeat strong. Your shaky hands. You forget all else. Of course you’ll follow her home. You know, just to make sure she makes it all right. Sure, okay.

And you spend the night.

Then slip back to your world, but you’re always thinking. You remain still always remembering. A year at least goes by and there is not much change. It seems like a decade. You can see her face on any woman for an instant. You can hear her voice. The smile, the sin, that night, and the countless before. You miss her. She always ordered a special drink, and it used to make you so mad. It wouldn’t make you mad today though. The perfume that you could never name, no matter how many times she told you, but will not ever forget. You could smell it from a mile away. And you have, almost. At least across a hall. No need to summon. No need to close your eyes and imagine. It never left you. You can still smell it now, can’t you?

It’s over now. You admit it again. For God knows the how-manieth time. Where once was a glimmer of hope, is dark. No one’s fault that you can see. Except your own. And it’s been months, and still no word. So you go on with your life and try to be brave. And you try to not anger at how things worked out. And you’ve almost got it figured out. And you are doing much better. And almost, and almost, and you are absolutely wrong. Because you still miss her.

You hope for a second life. And a second chance. You try to hope just for a second life with a happy ending. Is that how it is with your one true love, the love of your life? No? Must be just me then.