recriminal

This will mean something
later, often, but for now
just take it for what it is
and let what will be, be. There is
no way to explain without ruining
how it unfolds, naturally as time
gets old and you begin to doubt
some of your old hopes
were as false as, deciding against
them, you hoped they were.
They were, don't worry.
You're going to find out.
It will be no terrible crisis,
no catastrophe at worst, at most
it will be a faint echo. A nostalgia
made of hurt, not old joy. A recalling
to heart and head aches of days
long since dead, but never still.
They have never stopped stirring,
and that's how you know in the end
how wrong you were. Not that it could have
worked. It couldn't. Only that you're not who
you say you are, and that if you were
it wouldn't have mattered what works.
In the end it doesn't, you know. It isn't
what works that matters, it's

who decides.