It is not like my sorrow has ended.
The room did not alter
when he came in. Not anymore.
Words loosened,
gone are the invented
phrases.
the islands are silent now.
Sea at rest and
wind is unimposing.
My love is of no use
for him who never was.
not his fault.
My endless journey has
started before him.
Along the way,
he walks back to
his true self.
Alice Cuenca
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-my-way-7/
