Dusk for Dawn
By Dawn E. Pelazza

I dreamed of you last night--
it was just like old times.

We laughed, you held my hand,
you kissed me and called me your “pumpkin sweet”.
You were young, you were handsome, you were my first love.

We were flying a kite during the Ides of March.
March was always my favorite time of year.
First your birthday, then mine.
Plain vanilla cake for you and chocolate everything for me.
It seems like it wasn’t all that long ago.

I remember when you would look at me
with love and pride in your eyes
now replaced by anger and sometimes fear.

Your words, once so articulate and carefully chosen
come out in a flurry and leave me to wonder what you meant to say.
If the words are cruel I try to tell myself that you don’t mean them
but they hurt regardless of their intention or not.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard “I love you” and most days
I tell myself that you do.
I tell myself that somewhere deep inside you remember.
You remember when you held me when I was scared
or celebrated my victories
or walked me down the aisle.

I cry. I cry hot, bitter, mournful tears.
I will love you enough for both of us.
I will remember for both us.