The Coziness of Delusion

     Recently, I had a reunion with a person who has known me for over half my life. In fact, we were in love, or something like it, for many years. But all that ended a long time ago, and both of us have changed—in my case, pretty radically. During our recent reunion chatting over coffee, I realized that we now have very little in common. The interests we shared years ago are no longer a viable part of my life, and the things that now absorb my time and mind are not a viable part of his. Still, there are friendships that can exist and even flourish despite big differences in interests and philosophies. It was this hope that prompted me to ask him if he ever reads this blog. Though I certainly don't tell the whole truth in these posts, I tell a lot of the truth, and if anyone cared to know who I am now and how I got to be who I am now, this blog is a great place to start. His answer saddened me.

     "No, I haven't read it. And I really don't think I ever will. Because that  'you' has nothing to do with me, and I want to remember you the way I knew you." A second passed before he added, "I know that isn't real."

     And I know now that he and I can never be complete friends. We can only be nostalgic friends. Like the "love" we once had, it's only friendship of a sort; there are too many things missing, essential things.

     A few years ago, I wrote a sonnet about this sort of delusion and how we cling to it. It wasn't written with this particular person in mind; it was written for someone else, of whom I myself had, admittedly, created a certain image, an image that is idealized—though I have, since writing the sonnet, come to know him better and more realistically.

Simulacrum

I couldn't bear it if the photograph
I took of you so long ago should fade.
Inside my journal, like an epitaph,
between the last two pages, it is laid
with care. From time to time I take it out,
to see if all the colors are still true,
make certain that the sentiment I wrote
is still defined, that time has not subdued
the spirit radiating from your eyes.
And if I can preserve it through the years,
perhaps the dream of you will never die
but flourish, ever luminous and clear.
I know you now just as I knew you then.
My captured image brings you back again.

© Leticia Austria 2009
First published in Dreamcatcher  (under the title "The Likeness")