Bare Walls

There is this grief at the loss of a plan

Like losing a limb, the plan was an extension of my self

Through time rather than space

I reached out and placed the objects I loved, carefully

In the future

I put you next to me and rings on fingers

The flowers that I love were arranged

Before blooming

The letters were sent out

Before the type had been set

This is a poem for the death of my plan

For the picture I painted in my head

Of a love that would stretch across time

I’m grieving for the death of myself

The self that would have worn her hair down

And let her picture be taken

But now all the rooms of my future are empty

The flowers never planted

The paper never pulped

And I can sit and stare at that empty space

I had filled with hopes

And try and find beauty in bare walls