sometimes he doesn’t know love: a haiku (and a prose)

solitary dawn

Now he doesn’t know

Sometimes he thinks he knows love

in moments alone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~He doesn’t know her anymore. They have parted for too long and the distance is too far. He still remembers this often at dawn. How he has driven for hours in the early hours on a treacherous winding  country lane up the foggy hill to visit her, usually arriving at dawn. The look on her face when she opened her door and shook her head. Her large dark eyes said, “No. Don’t come anymore.” But her heart softened when she saw the helplessness of the condition he was in then. They stood at the doorway. Eyes locking. Then she stepped backward a bit and let him into her apartment in that lonely outpost. She took his overnight bag into the sitting room, “You are too tired to drive all the way back. Stay a night and then you are off.” She showed him to the  sitting room and cleared a couch for him to rest. “I’ll make you a hot chicken soup. Look at how skinny and worn you have become!” Then she started cooking. Then they had coffee on the verandah, watching the fading stars. He usually stayed two nights, sleeping on the couch. She might be on duty and had to rush to perform surgery from time to time. She cooked for him and then left in a hurry and returned many hours later. In the evening they sat at the verandah and drank coffee and watched the stars rising. The workmanship of the starry night sky at the outpost was rare and perfect. They both liked Kenny G. He liked the love songs sung by Michael Bolton too, such as, How Am I Supposed To Live Without You. How is he supposed to live without her, having been loving her for so long? How is he supposed to carry on? They both knew his question. They both knew the answer too. He just has to carry on without her. Over the many years they have parted, he has lived on. It’s just that dawn comes every morning. And he always remembers. The way they were. 

 

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