Not Yet Where My Feet Are
I still see you in sunsets,
Feel your absence in the presence of others,
And your presence when I’m alone.
I hear you in old school jazz
Your imprint,
Lingering with every note.
The echoes of our laughter,
Best parts of myself,
Fully realized, self-assured, and whole
Like hot chocolate by a fire
On a cold winter’s night.
You possessed a distinct warmth and light
That signaled toward the beauty of the unknown.
“Be where your feet are.”
Maybe you were right.
Although, to me, this still feels like an unreachable star
Not unobtainable, distanced by space or time,
But rather the constraints and limitations
Imposed on me by my own mind.
Constantly racing,
Pacing,
Facing my train of thoughts,
Contradicting any idea of where I thought I would be,
What I always said I want and need.
Softly humming, “Dream a Little Dream of Me,”
Craving your kiss,
Thinking of how our souls would’ve danced
Had I given you a real chance.
There you were,
With all the tools in hand
Paint brushes, paint, a blank canvas
On a stand,
Ready to fill my life with colour.
There I was, riddled with fear,
Unprepared, closed off
A colourless brick wall,
Not willing to move at all.
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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