separation | a poem

I broke up with my first love.
Or, we grew apart.

It was a series of events that caused it to happen.
I had been ignoring him;
My eye being turned by other things.
Quicker and easier.
You know.

He’d known me since
I was first knit together in my mothers womb.
But that meant little to me.
I walked away.
I broke off contact.
I mean He kept calling
but I ignored the calls,
didn’t open the letters,
pretended I hadn’t heard.

But you know, it got lonely.
I sort of found myself wondering about Him.
What he was up to.
Whether he’d forgotten about me.
Whether I could dare to try again.

I found myself thumbing the pages
of an old book I’d had for years,
full of poetry and wisdom, and good news.
The odd word jumped out;
and it reminded me of him.

I found myself gazing out of the window,
with a half formed prayer passing by
on the wings of a bird;
and that reminded me of him too.

Funny really.
Hadn’t thought about Him for years,
thought I’d probably screwed it all up.
And yet, there, on the sound of the church bells
I heard my name.

And I turned back.
The distractions were suddenly vacuous
and transient,
and my searching in the wrong places,
for the wrong things,
was causing more restlessness.

And I realised that
the drifting apart,
the thing that had broken us up
the real reason, the real sin,
was that I had turned my back on Him
and forgotten where home was.

– Anonymous