The Other Day

Can we have a few more 
Of the other day?

Lovers for a few hours
Lost in each other

When you were not sure
If you should go or stay

You heard, 'Go',
But you stayed

How did you hear
What was unsaid?

Looking beyond what was
While I was trapped inside me

We seized oneness
Then ceased to be

Now years later
Here we are again

Nothing is new
Then I have to
See if you are still you

History. Mirror

Why does history have to be such an unrelenting sod? It always comes back - in the form of events or people. Usually both. Things that happen, words that are uttered. It's like weed. Ugly and unwanted. Or a creeper that keeps growing. I thought I had uprooted it for good but then I see it raising its ugly head yet again. What's worse, I shouldn't have let it reappear. But I did. I should have got rid of it at the very first hint. But I didn't. What stopped me? Nothing. That's the worst part.

The creeper still grows. It has reached my ankles already. Soon it will creep its way up. First it will weaken my knees till I can't stand straight. Then it will make me sick to my stomach. My heart will be eaten, right up to my throat. Knowing me, I will let it grow till I am consumed by it completely, till I gag and cannot breathe and don't hear or see anything. I might make a few lame attempts to cut it off. But maybe I won't be sincere. I'll feel bad for the weed that needs to feed. Like I have been fed off before. Several times. I need to break this pattern. I don't want any reflections from the past. I don't want to be the mirror. Again.