Posthuman Blues

so alone into the cold new year without another word from her
i wrote to ask if we could maybe meet again before the spring
but weeks went by with no reply until once more my birthday came
and with it my surprise but this time nothing was the same . . .

"i'm sorry - blame infatuation - blame imagination -
i was sure you'd be the one but i was wrong -
it seems reality destroys our dreams - i won't forget you - blossom"
faded red inside a tiny book of old goodbyes . . .

--The Cure, "Strange Attraction"