Patrick

The Library

I went to the library,
a place I have always loved;
its silent solace insured by solitude,
but this time it didn't work.
the books and writers didn't help,
all I could think of was you;
when I looked at a page,
I didn't see the words.
I bent my head, I was so ashamed,
tears filled my eyes;
dropping silently upon the pages,
I tried to hide this emotion.
but when a grown man cries;
others are sure to see,
some people stared, some just glanced.
you are hundreds of miles away;
I couldn't hear your voice,
there were no emails;
if we were only together.
but can we ever be?
it's wrong, I married, you're divoriced;
we're both fifty-nine years old,
a ridiculous time to fall in love.
yet you love me, and I love you;
you're so beautiful, caring, and polite,
we hate to hurt others;
yet I know I have already done so.
all this emotion and conflict I feel;
and I came to the library to be alone,
but was that my reason for doing so,
or is it because you're a librarian?

p.k. 4.4.02