Never Works Out That Way
It was summer, the pinnacle of our lives,
everything around us bathed in golden light.
She taught me love, how to live,
to laugh at myself, despite the secrets she hid.
I remember the long sleeves, even in the summer sun.
Wine coolers and raindrops finally loosened her tongue.
When her mom died, her dad broke, never to mend.
Fists and fury — she thought it was her fault in the end.
The purple bruises etched into my memory,
on the girl I loved, the woman I knew. I felt the tragedy.
So I vowed to grow wings and fly her far away.
She said, “Baby, I love you, but it never works out that way.”
Time collided. Summer slipped by.
Winter was cold, but I stayed warm by her side.
As spring came, life blossomed, morning sickness showed.
I went with her to tell her dad. Her fear clearly flowed.
As she spoke, his face fell, age marked his brow.
I saw the wear of what he’d become. It was clear now.
A flood of words, his emotions set free.
He said, “I’m sorry, hon. I don’t know what became of me.
Every time I let you down, every time I drank,
I felt trapped, sinking deeper, my spirit blank.
Your mother would be proud of who you’ve become.
Let me be a better man, make up for what I’ve done.
Years of heavy hands and bourbon breath.
There’s nothing left to say.”
Tears rolled down his cheek.
She sadly smiled and turned away,
saying, “Daddy, I love you, but it just wouldn’t work out that way.”
Seasons passed. Summers came and went too fast.
Wrinkles formed as I held her near.
The SUV was wrecked. They marveled she survived.
But after all was said, hope slowly died.
I said, “You can’t leave me, I wouldn’t know what to do.
Think of our little girl. She looks up to you.
She needs dresses and her mommy. You swore you’d stay.
We made a vow forever, promised it that day.
She’s starting school. She needs you here. She needs to believe.”
I prayed to God, “Take me, leave her be.”
Fear consumed me as she slipped away.
Her warm eyes opened with something to say.
She said, “Honey, I love you, but it just didn’t work out that way.”
Memories stayed as seasons flew by.
Watched our little girl blossom, the apple of our eye.
She moved away, started a family of her own.
Her mom would have been proud of how she’d grown.
Kneeling by the grave, I showed pictures to her stone.
“Graduation, wedding day — at least she’s not alone.
Her husband loves her with all his heart.
He grew wings. They flew apart.
I miss you dear. I need you now.
I’ll be with you again someday…”
As I watch the winter storm,
the clouds shift through shades of gray.
I shouted to the heavens, “How could you turn away?”
A voice replied, but in my mind
I heard only the rumble from the sky.
And as I saw the clouds part,
angels filled my sight,
the path to heaven bathed in holy light.
The voice lost in my mind, guidance astray.
Freezing rain, blowing wind.
I close my eyes and turn away.
I said, “I love you, but it never works out that way.”
I turned away from paradise.
It never works out that way.