Times

Sunday Love

I was driving to work, thinking about why I don’t write poems anymore.

Sure enough, I’m just not in love.

I’ve chosen work over nature, reading over romanticism, and money over adventure.

Most poems I’ve written were in times when I was out of my mind, and the prose just came out without asking.

Times when I needed 3 AM runs to fall asleep, in cold winter nights — just because I couldn’t get her out of my head.

Times when I spent most nights outside, looking at the sky, admiring the fact we exist.

Times when I woke up to the sound of ruminating waves bouncing back and forth, hitting the shore like a gentle kiss on the neck.

A gentle rhythm against the sands of dawn.

Times when I had both, and my mind was out there somewhere I can’t really seem to get to now.

Times when I drove 12 hours straight just to be a morning by her side.

Times when the purpose to be breathing was right in front of my eyes.

And even when I meet someone new, I’m not even in the mood to be romantic anymore. The connection feels distant, like a dream long gone.

Memories left behind in dust.

Maybe I’m still caught at that first glance in the bar

or held in the glow of a morning light

Maybe I’m still chasing the echo

of a night by the Atlantic

where I left more than the ocean behind.

Times when I could wrap my hands around her,

when our hearts beat in perfect synchronicity,

a constant ecstasy of emotions,

yoga followed by sex,

and sweat everywhere.

Dancing in the rain like two elves,

the two of us balancing in a hammock with a view I’d never forget.

I guess I’m getting there,

but it’s hard to live when you can’t stop thinking about her —

and that you might not be able to love someone else.

With love,

Alejandro