“Nothing is more excruciating than hopelessly longing for lost love.” ― Ken Poirot
Looking back
Through years of
Doubt and introspection,
It becomes clear,
My hopes remain embryos-
Frozen-
Never to reach fruition.
Then,
Thinking of the people
And the lessons I've known,
The truth becomes obvious,
My dreams and I
Never stood a chance.
It happens Rebecca, but sometimes we need to re-invent ourselves and re calibrate our broken dreams and stitch new hope into them, maybe a latent dream will surprise you, like a late blooming flower on your heart, nicely penned dear R, xo
I know I have felt that way at times. Sad. But one must never give up hope. At those very "low" times, I thought of other lives. Love, peace, and best wishes to you, Rebecca,
One of the tragedies of love is that it often takes
too many heartaches to find the connection. It's easy
to spot, but very hard to grasp. I am not an expert. I write
from lost dreams and bad choices.
I once dated Beverly, the roommate to my eventual girlfriend when my roommate and I switched dates on the second, and only, double date we had. Bev was outgoing and that's how I got to know her in our apartment complex. She was the daughter of a wealthy owner of restaurants across Western Canada. Not particularly good looking, but gregarious enough to find boyfriends.
She somehow managed to snare a physicist from Bangladesh. But I saw that he had an eye for other women and being a Moslem, may have had a wife back in Bangladesh. They were a number for a few months until he went back home and told his father of his love and claimed that his father had a heart attack. That may have just been an excuse having used her for his purposes and moved on. He lost his job at Fairchild semiconductor, and moved to Pittsburgh in a similar job.
Bev started dating an engineer that worked for Lockheed aerospace. He wasn't handsome and rather short. She didn't like him much at first, but married him anyway because she was getting older and unsure of ever marrying if she didn't marry him.
They started buying small apartment complexes, fixing them up, and then selling them until they had a very profitable rental business. When I visited Bev a few years later, still working as a nurse at Stanford Hospital, with two small children, they had built a fabulous redwood beam house next to the vice president of IBM on Candlelight Drive in the Los Gatos Hills, overlooking Silicon Valley.
Bev settled for something less than her dream but turned out all right, at least, financially.
One of the things we have the least control of in our lives is love. We do not control the our feelings when it comes to who we care about or who we desire. We can hide our emotions, disguise love with friendship, even pretend to ourselves that we are not in love. The heart knows though and as your poem so lovingly puts it...if it was a real love the heart never forgets. Well done Becca
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Regis. 🙏🌳🐦💚🌲
too many heartaches to find the connection. It's easy
to spot, but very hard to grasp. I am not an expert. I write
from lost dreams and bad choices.
I once dated Beverly, the roommate to my eventual girlfriend when my roommate and I switched dates on the second, and only, double date we had. Bev was outgoing and that's how I got to know her in our apartment complex. She was the daughter of a wealthy owner of restaurants across Western Canada. Not particularly good looking, but gregarious enough to find boyfriends.
She somehow managed to snare a physicist from Bangladesh. But I saw that he had an eye for other women and being a Moslem, may have had a wife back in Bangladesh. They were a number for a few months until he went back home and told his father of his love and claimed that his father had a heart attack. That may have just been an excuse having used her for his purposes and moved on. He lost his job at Fairchild semiconductor, and moved to Pittsburgh in a similar job.
Bev started dating an engineer that worked for Lockheed aerospace. He wasn't handsome and rather short. She didn't like him much at first, but married him anyway because she was getting older and unsure of ever marrying if she didn't marry him.
They started buying small apartment complexes, fixing them up, and then selling them until they had a very profitable rental business. When I visited Bev a few years later, still working as a nurse at Stanford Hospital, with two small children, they had built a fabulous redwood beam house next to the vice president of IBM on Candlelight Drive in the Los Gatos Hills, overlooking Silicon Valley.
Bev settled for something less than her dream but turned out all right, at least, financially.
Ron