Three Years Poem by Paula M. Puddephatt

How did she know obsessions that are mine?
The ones I hadn't even formed back then?
Could she tell whom I was to meet and when?
I'm with her - on sanity's borderline.

Three years have passed. If feels like yesterday,
or else three hundred years ago instead.
She didn't need more people in her head,
knowing that all too soon, they'd go away.

What would have happened if she hadn't died?
Would she have left, or would it have been me?
She knew how these things always have to be -
that certain issues can't be rectified.

Three years, since I first felt my engine stall.
Three years, and I've still not moved on at all.