(This isnt poety but it is a stream of consciousness.)

To Them.

Her.

Him.

At one point in time, I loved them both.

Her, who I loved on more than one occasion, and mentally scrutinized myself for doing so. Even so if it wasn't my fault.

Him, who I learned to love once, and continued loving all of this time even if that light died down to just a whimper.

From a real experience, about two people I still hold close even as it's been so long since i've been with them. From a love, that train-wrecked itself every time.

For Him, who likes the El Camino. For Her, who likes to not drive. For me, who likes the old Cadillacs.

When I think of her I think of the bright beautiful sun every light source I could imagine the morning purple in to blue in to white in to yellow which is just the exciting natural world I see around her when I picture her again as the green in front of the gold the glossy paint on the model of the car the essence of the gentle riot of beauty that can be so cynical that can be so deathly depressing that the whole outfit she is wearing turns into dark space and every gold and green being her turns to a granulated black heavy sand that weighs so heavily on her shoulders the pressure is almost too much for her to handle shes about to collapse- then she turns to us and makes those black sand bags disappear into the vapor of life that supply her with her enthusiasm to express what entertains her. I never thought deeply about her.

When I think of him I think of the evergreen that is painted so real behind him I think of the sun directly behind his head so he is so outstandingly silhouetted as a black mass as the black holed sun that holds the secrets and strong will that will break your face if you take one step too far to the left or one step to close as he is wrath and can be as jolly as he wants to be but beyond the grin it's an ongoing battle to fight inner and outer forces all the time every day of his life when I think of him I think of the love he gave me was free was outside was the wind was the riot that had people coming up and asking us if we were together when we were holding hands as one we were strength as one as one as divided we have fallen into hell and will never grasp hands again as we broke the breaking point in our own battles he is the rock in a group of fruits is strong is durable isn't easily cut through is easily drilled through he endures his new lover now as they bicker and run from each other as I pretend not to watch. I don't like to think deeply about him.

But, as he let go of my hand and as she grasped another, I knew it was over.