To be shared upon death

She put me on a pedestal for all the world to see And how I longed to stay up high so she would look at me But further up she built my wall and I a clumsy man was never wont to fly with gods or be more than I am I couldn't stand for very long and fell for I had tarried The wings of stone I wore for her had torn before they carried Where I fell was where I broke into my separate parts A jagged, broken, slashing mess of broken bloodied hearts A tender hand has done her best to stitch and sew and wind But there were parts that wouldn't fit and more we couldn't find Some second hand, some more like hers, my shape began to take now stronger than I was before that climb I'll never make.

What of a world where I did not have her at my fingertips? A world of only silence, and thoughts, and aches, and memories. What of the final ending touch of the final moment of the final sleeping near? Or when her name flickers over the electric face of my screen for the last time? Or mine on hers. End, comma, The. Realizing this of every meeting destroys me. Each parting is a likely to be the last as any other before or after. 'If I could hold her once more--just once.' How the sad songstory goes... every story. Yet how differently I would cherish her. How long I would linger... The things I said - that I said I wouldn't say. The last phrase never the one we wanted it to be. The last glance so short, so scared, so broken. The embers in her tear stained eyes flicker out of existence right before me, because I didn't watch the fire... What if I'd known? What if I had acted like I had known? What if I always spoke as thought the next meeting will never be? ...