Nothing Compares
Loss and longing
The room sits heavy, still, rain whispers against the window, a symphony of sorrow, each drop a reminder— a soft tap that speaks of time, time that moves forward— while she remains suspended, a moth caught in a web of memories. She sits on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands, the weight of absence pressing down, like the thick fog that blankets the morning, her heart a hollow echo, where laughter once danced. Photographs lie scattered, a collage of warmth and light; each image a frozen moment, stolen smiles, sunsets painting the sky with hues of hope, the mundane turned magical by the alchemy of love. Fingers trace his face in the frame, the contours of a love that felt infinite, yet slipped away, grains of sand through open palms, leaving only the rough edges of longing, and the ache of what could have been. Why did you leave? she breathes; the silence answers with a sigh, a breath caught in the throat of time; the world continues its relentless spin, while she is unmoored, a ship lost in a storm, searching for the lighthouse that no longer shines. Little things rise like ghosts; his teasing about her coffee addiction, the way he claimed the remote, the sacred ritual of shared mornings; each memory a shard of glass, beautiful yet sharp, cutting deeper with every recollection, a mosaic of joy and pain. Nothing compares to him, the realization settles in her bones, heavy, a void that swallows the stars, silence draping over her like a shroud; friends offer words, well-meaning but empty, their voices lost in the chasm of a love that felt so complete. As night falls, the rain retreats, leaving behind a glistening world, streets reflecting the light of street lamps; she walks to the window, the cool glass grounding her, as if to remind her that the world still breathes, even as she feels the weight of solitude. In this quiet moment, she understands healing is a journey, moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting; he is woven into her essence, the fabric of her being, a thread of love that runs deep; and though nothing compares, she will learn to embrace the beauty, the fragments of life, that remain after the storm.
Author’s Note
A chance listening encounter while driving to meet a friend inspired me to write this poem. It was a Prince retrospective. I didn’t hear his rendition of Nothing Compares 2 U then, but the radio host mentioned it as one of the many songs Prince had written and permitted other artists to record.
I know of a few artists (Sinead O’Connor, Chris Cornell, Chris Stapleton) who’ve covered this song written by Prince. I wondered what inspired him to write it and found this comment in the comment section of the video (below) written by MsPea.
According to Susan Rogers, Prince's engineer, this song was written when his housekeeper/assistant, Sandy Scipioni, had to leave Paisley Park to take care of her father after he had a heart attack. She took care of just about everything in Prince's life and home. He was really dependent on her, and when she was gone, he missed her more and more. Susan said she came to work one day, and he had written this song about Sandy. They recorded it the same day. Susan also said that Sandy planted the flowers in the backyard that he mentions in the song. Lots of people think it's about one of his girlfriends, but it's not.
It's about the woman who pretty much ran his life (except his music) for him (who was never his girlfriend).
My book of poetry and prose, The Edges, is now available in digital and paperback formats at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Google Play, and Kobo.
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Poetry and prose about the season:
Snow and Ice, 14 December 2024
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