In a dream I saw the reflection of your face, your long hair tangled on the pillow, your clothing tossed carelessly on a chair. I saw light from a street lamp falling on a bare shoulder as you slept. A whiff of air from off the bay ruffled the curtain.
Once, I was alive and on fire. Once, I was a star in my own personal galaxy. Once, I was your entire universe, you said. And you became everything my imagination could contain. We were so young, so new.
I don’t know how it was that you slipped away, but you were erased from my life like a shallow footprint that disappears as the tide rises.
Sometimes now I stand at the bedroom window, looking out at a familiar sea. I breathe in the salt-laden air, and I wonder, just for a while, if you ever remember me.
Tim Buckley (1947 - 1975), like so many creative souls of the era, was lost too early through a drug overdose.
“We were so young, so new” —the beauty of this line!
I'm still living mine!