No Coming Back

If we were to meet now,
by chance in
some European café,

you would not know
my voice,
and you would not
recognise my face,

but you would know
the wound
I still carry for you
in my eyes.

I move now
like a chain
dragging through water,

as though the memory
of you is too heavy
to carry.

My heart continues
pretending,
but my body knows.

There is no coming back.