ephemera

I feel like I could give you up
at any time, despite the fond devotions
I continually express. Despite the things
in which we share, which mean so much.
If it turned out it had to be, I'd
disappear so easily. You'd wonder
at the vanishment. "I thought
that I meant more than that," but
you do. How much things and people mean
is no obstacle to me becoming ephemera
at a moment's notice. I'm gone - or
anyway, I could be, so easily.
Accomplished: it is done. It makes me
wonder about my fond devotions
despite I know they are more real
and true than almost anything else
about me. Yet how strong can they be?
Even though they make and shape my life,
if I know I wouldn't insist on them? If
I know I would give up without a fight
- and I would. Fortunately

you don't know. And if experience
is any guide, you never will. I've had
this feeling all my life, after all
so far and I've never had to disappear

so easily.