In order to put this poem, Echoes of Dylan, in context, I will speculate that most of us have lost a love.

I also speculate that most of us have had a lost love who we thought, at least at the time, was ‘the one who got away.’

Speculating even further, some of us have been fortunate enough to recognize, if only in hindsight, that the one who got away was not, in fact, the right one for us and the relationship truly needed to end. Although it can be incredibly painful, when a relationship ends, the love given and received is not diminished. The quality of the time shared is not tarnished and the benefits of having had the relationship in the first place are not devalued.

The relationship simply ended and hopefully we move on, heartbroken for a time, but we move on all the same.

I truly believe that in all experiences, there is an opportunity to grow if we choose to seize it and ride out the painful aftermath in order to become a stronger, happier, or simply different person. During this time, self-care is important, friends are imperative, and reclaiming our sense of self, likely a changed sense, is essential.

Echoes of Dylan tells of an evening in which I found myself a little drunk, reminiscing about a past relationship that lasted two decades off and on, and listening to Bob Dylan’s Emotionally Yours, our song. Back in the day, we’d put the song on at bedtime, snuggle into the mountain pillows and covers, and talk long into the night about how lucky we were to have found true love so young.

Unfortunately, in spite of numerous attempts to find our way, we ended. At the time, it was brutal and I thought I’d never be happy again, but time is a great equalizer in grieving a loss and healing. Time passed and in going the distance from the painful beginning of grieving the loss of that love to the present day, I grew immeasurably and experienced a time of rapid-self discovery.

Today, I find myself thankful for a relationship I often describe as an exquisite agony and immensely hopeful about my heart’s future. Still, on occasion when the night is right, the music catches my breath, and the cognac fills my glass just so, I am transported to a moment in time that changed everything I knew about love.

 

Echoes of Dylan

The echoes of Dylan, long past, are my companion tonight.
A crystal rocks glass, a family heirloom from my now deceased Aunt,
serves as an elegant companion to Hennessy, two cubes of ice,
and entirely inelegant contemplations.

Emotionally, I am yours.
I always have been,
always will be,
but life moves on
as swiftly as the river flows, the planets orbit, our Mother Earth turns.
Today, I stand here
looking at the wreckage of my latest attempt,
my most recent effort at contorting reality to fit my ideal of love,
you.

The ideal fell short, as I’m sure you realize.

We.
We tried. We lacked.
We beat our wings against the cages we each imposed.
You, complete freedom to fly wherever your heart and fears took you.
Me, a feathered, nest resplendent of jewel tones and ninety nine pieces of art on the wall.
The confines took a beating, bars bent, gaping holes from which either could escape.
One fine fall day, you did.
Escape.

In not pursuing, I set you free.
You never returned.
In this, I have come to believe you were never mine to begin with.

I sip the dregs from my crystal cup,
wash and lay it tidily beside the sink to dry,
and go to bed.

Tomorrow is another day.

 

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Author: Mk Michaels 

Editor: Renee Picard 

Photo Credit: nkashirin at Flickr