Mrs. Gone

In the hallways and the corridors of that building that still stands,
I remember you in the silence and in the emptiness it has.
We used to take advantage of those long and quiet hours,
violating the peace with voices that weren’t truly ours.

And the people, they’d enter and exit that forbidden door,
that transition near the place where we always used to talk,
on that bench where we first met and last saw one another,
we said goodbye in a very subtle manner.

There’s no reason for me to remember you now,
as I sit on the bench, my face set to its usual frown.
My mind, it has always wandered into things out of reach,
into thoughts from the darker recesses you had often tried to keep up with.

The building’s dilapidated,
broken, nearly collapsed.
But my memory seems to be rebuilding itself,
vivid for as long as it lasts.

You made beautiful a language that I hardly knew,
didn’t give up on me,
and though that’s not how you made it appear.
I too hid something from you: my fear.

I am sitting next to that forbidden door,
wondering if I should enter.
Though I can no longer call you from there,
there’s something I have to inquire.

We’ve progressed in a span of four years,
mainly by talking on that bench.
But our time has long been up,
only this time it’s forever.

You’re the true Patroness of Truth,
and in truth I hold you dear.
And even though it does not show,
your influence has gone too deep.

I do not want to find you,
For loss is what I fear.
And even though we lose to find,
you’ll only move me to tears.