She picked up her journal, quill and ink and walked out into the garden. Her tears would flow faster then the steps she took. At a distance where her favorite tree stood she sat and without hesitation began to write.
The year does not matter for one falls into another and time escapes me. It is only on this day that I realize the years that have passed with no change at all.
It began one day when his blue eyes met mine, brown and fierce it did not make him look elsewhere. It was a short time before we became great friends. We spoke of everything under the sun and at times of nothing at all. We shared laughter and at times pain as friends would. We watched or heard of each others failures in love. Never did we judge one another, often we rallied each other that we would find true love.
Years would pass...oh how it would seem as though it were only a short time. Our friendship changed just as friendships do. In a moment of one feeling loneliness and the other lost we embraced as lovers do. Never did we speak of our new found relationship, ever the secret mutually agreed. Did we think that it would happen again? I can not answer for him. I surely didn't believe it so.
Not a time did you make me feel as though I were more than a trusted friend. Not a time did I feel my heart betray me and you. I danced into our embrace each time thinking it would be the last.
Has many seasons really passed by? The wrinkles along my eyes tell me so. We've watched each other go through trials of life and yet beholden to each other we never spoke.
A secret still and yet we have no one to betray. A secret still one of us remains. As if the sands of time stood still one has remained as aloof as a friend. As if the sands of time could run out so quickly the other has grown to yearn the embrace, long to be spoken of and yet...complacent to the momentary embraces.
In all the years not a word, a thought or action to give the illusion of a friendship that has grown and yet here I sit by this Willow tree and write with tears of regret. I am not upset that he does not love me. I am upset that I keep believing he will.
Is it a crime of the heart to put myself in such a reflection-less window? It must be.
Is it torturous to offer ones heart knowing it will be rejected silently? It must be.
Is it fair to oneself to be a best kept secret? Yes, it is.
The Greeks have a name that fit me well in this charade and it is Despoina. For truly in all the seasons that have passed I have been a mistress to one that is not married. I am not upset, I am too hopeful.
My tears tell me that hope has heard from reality and it is time to be a secret no more. To walk proudly in life and another will call to my name and it will not be Despoina. I will one day sit by an Oak and write of loves embrace.
She gathered her journal, quill and ink and walked back knowing that finally an end had come to a misery laced in passion. She walked knowing that love and all it's grandness was just a short distance away. A season or more away.
The year does not matter for one falls into another and time escapes me. It is only on this day that I realize the years that have passed with no change at all.
It began one day when his blue eyes met mine, brown and fierce it did not make him look elsewhere. It was a short time before we became great friends. We spoke of everything under the sun and at times of nothing at all. We shared laughter and at times pain as friends would. We watched or heard of each others failures in love. Never did we judge one another, often we rallied each other that we would find true love.
Years would pass...oh how it would seem as though it were only a short time. Our friendship changed just as friendships do. In a moment of one feeling loneliness and the other lost we embraced as lovers do. Never did we speak of our new found relationship, ever the secret mutually agreed. Did we think that it would happen again? I can not answer for him. I surely didn't believe it so.
Not a time did you make me feel as though I were more than a trusted friend. Not a time did I feel my heart betray me and you. I danced into our embrace each time thinking it would be the last.
Has many seasons really passed by? The wrinkles along my eyes tell me so. We've watched each other go through trials of life and yet beholden to each other we never spoke.
A secret still and yet we have no one to betray. A secret still one of us remains. As if the sands of time stood still one has remained as aloof as a friend. As if the sands of time could run out so quickly the other has grown to yearn the embrace, long to be spoken of and yet...complacent to the momentary embraces.
In all the years not a word, a thought or action to give the illusion of a friendship that has grown and yet here I sit by this Willow tree and write with tears of regret. I am not upset that he does not love me. I am upset that I keep believing he will.
Is it a crime of the heart to put myself in such a reflection-less window? It must be.
Is it torturous to offer ones heart knowing it will be rejected silently? It must be.
Is it fair to oneself to be a best kept secret? Yes, it is.
The Greeks have a name that fit me well in this charade and it is Despoina. For truly in all the seasons that have passed I have been a mistress to one that is not married. I am not upset, I am too hopeful.
My tears tell me that hope has heard from reality and it is time to be a secret no more. To walk proudly in life and another will call to my name and it will not be Despoina. I will one day sit by an Oak and write of loves embrace.
She gathered her journal, quill and ink and walked back knowing that finally an end had come to a misery laced in passion. She walked knowing that love and all it's grandness was just a short distance away. A season or more away.
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