Yield to the Foolish Tides of the Heart
Yield to the Foolish Tides of the Heart
If truth must be told—
and oh, how cruel truth can be—
then let it rise like an untamed tide,
drowning the years in waves of longing.
For time has never dulled the edges of this ache,
nor softened the weight of what was lost.
I drift, night after night, into the past,
where golden moments still shimmer, untarnished,
where your laughter lingers like a melody unfinished.
Memories do not ask permission;
they flood the quiet hours, unbidden,
arriving with the hush before dawn,
between the wreckage of reality and the dream of what could have been.
If only… if only…
We were wise, they said.
Practical. Sensible.
We stepped aside, let logic lead,
turned away before love could tighten its grip.
Ah, but did we choose wisdom,
or did we betray the very thing that made us whole?
For reason may have steered us apart,
but it could not silence the weeping in our hearts.
Even as we turned away,
our goodbyes heavy with unshed tears,
a whisper remained, lingering in the space between us—
the parting cry of something never meant to die.
Now, the years have stretched too far to count,
yet still, I ask—
did we do the right thing?
Did we not make the greater mistake
in trying to be wiser than love itself?
True north faltered when we walked away,
and in its place, only absence remains,
a gravity of loss pulling at the edges of my soul.
Would we have chosen differently,
had we glimpsed the paths our lives would take?
Would we have clung to one another,
defying fate, silencing reason,
yielding to the foolish tides of the heart?
Oh, but I dare not speak the answer aloud.
It rises, bitter and raw, from my throat,
an unholy scream that must remain buried,
for the truth is unbearable—
not just to me, but to all who ever knew what we were.
And you—what of you?
For the years stole your answer,
burying it in the silence that stretched between us?
I can only guess,
but others—those who loved you, who loved us—
whispered their own truths.
One wrote to me once, words etched in quiet desperation:
“Find her. Find my sweet friend and take her home where she belongs.”
But I did not. And for all the joys this life has given me,
there is one regret,
one shadow that lingers long after the sun has set.
One, my love. One, Lord, one.
