Faces Without Names

She hinted, it went over his head
Left clues, but he failed to notice
Shared content he never watched
She wondered
Did he even see her anymore
See her like he once did
When her world was his world
Without exception
He did not change suddenly
No moment of revelation
Not a strike of lightning or thunderclap
It was a slow change
Like grass growing in the spring
Color shifting from yellow to green
Roots pressing deeper into the soil
She could feel the distance
The stillness in every waking moment
There was a time when his stillness had meaning
He was a man of deep thinking
His eyes scanned the room
He stood in places long after they had emptied
Watching with a calculated look
Now that stillness spoke differently
As if his hands were full
And his clothes no longer fit him
Yet neither were usually true
When he looked at her, he smiled
She called it his loyalty look
When in truth, it was strength
Facing her was safe but fearful
He knew the whole story
When her hints were ignored purposefully
And those clues she left waiting
She was still sharp, and he’d begun to wither
Time does that to you
All those years seemed to blend together
Not so bad he kept thinking
If he could only remember the why and what
Sometimes the why emerged in an empty room
And the what filled in the blanks
He used to laugh it off, silently
Like a man learning how to exhale
After years of holding his breath
He began to notice it more
Faces without names
Spaces, places, even his workshop
None of them looked the same
He couldn’t remember the why or the what
As if his thoughts were softened, tainted
The absence of something, but what
She couldn’t see, he wouldn’t let her see
Forgetting so many things now
And so, he turned inward
Stealing glances when she didn’t know it
He had to make sure, had to be certain
Her face was his forever
The love of his life, she was his wife
He couldn’t forget who she was
What she meant to him was priceless
Even as the other names and faces went away
Hers was the only one that mattered

R J Schwartz
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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all. I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed. I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another. I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me. I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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