Too Soon: Too Soon

by CWK


"I hate you – 
I love you."

"I don't ever want to see you! Ever again! –
I hope we can be friends."

"It's over, and done, this time, forever! –
maybe we should get back together?"

"I swear: this love will never cease.
I will never leave you! Not now! Not then! –
goodbye, my love, I wish you peace:
this is the end of the end."

It's too hard to say, and too soon to tell:
what was theirs – what was mine;
what to take – what to sell;
what to lose – what to find;
what to forget – what to mind;
where to live – where to die;
where to fail – where to try;
what to leave – what to leave in;
what was true – what was lies;
what to believe – who to believe in.

And now, at the end, where would we even
begin to find a place to begin?
Where? How? And Who? And When?
It's too soon to ask such questions: 
too late, tonight, to ask them again.
It's too soon, much too soon to unravel
such roads as take a million miles to travel.
Still at the beginning, where and when
could we find the time to tell
what was broken? – what was well?
what was good? – what was sin?
where was the start? – where was (is this?) the end?

It's too hard to say, and too soon to tell:

I suppose I should leave well,

or leave well enough alone; 
but how can I leave; I'm not sure that I'm gone.
"If only" – if only, there were no if onlys.

It's too soon to know if I am lonely
for you alone, and you only,
or just plain lonely, and feeling alone.
Too soon, to say "I don't," "I did," or "I do."
It's too soon to blame me, or you.
Also, too soon, by far, to exonerate:
too soon to set the record wrong,
and way too soon to set it straight.
It's too, too soon, to meet at noon,
and come together, or forever separate.
It's too soon to sing sad songs,
and yet, I can't seem to celebrate.
It is too soon to go; we have not time to wait.
It's too soon, and I fear it is too, much too, late.

I am starting to realize something amazing –
all of the answers to all of my praying
may come down to this:
Some questions can't be answered;

Some uncertainties are sure.

Some things, some times, remain a sweet regret:
a chance taken, and not amiss;
and yet, an opportunity, just missed.

It was too soon, just barely, when we met –
and yet, somehow, a second late.
It will always be too soon to remember, to forget,
and always too soon to love, to hate.
Some perplexities there will be,
some blindness will abide, even unto those who see.
You and I will be, to me, ever a mystery.
Our love will stand, before me, ever a maze,
and behind me, forever, in a haze.
This love will ever loom, 
a miserable, but magnificent, rune.
It will always be too soon.

I swear: this love will never cease.
I will never leave you! Not now! Not then! 
Goodbye, my love, I wish you peace:
this is the end of the end.