You’re like music; rain beating down on a summer day, sudden and unstoppable. You’re the heat of the sun and the cool sensation of bare feet on shady grass. I had a feeling. And it grew as tall as the trees you climb, as swift as the seasons change. The skin that you’re in is something of a vision. And I’m sure all the way through is beautiful too. The pools of your eyes, deepness impending, start to take over. I’m unable to keep afloat, but that’s alright and it shows. The ocean you make up is vast and unknown. And although I try and try, not a single drop stays in my cupped hands. I build a sand castle each day to show you how I view this form of serendipity, and each night you wash it away. And when I wake to find you retreating again,
So, you’ve finally finished writing your book, awesome! But now what?
It’s amazing how artistic we get when our hearts are wounded. Like our souls override reason and speak to us with such intensity it dominates our very being. Fate simpers at me and I huddle alone with the murmurings of dissent within, clawing at my walls and I desperately try to hold myself up because the only hero around is me. But the darkness of the future and onslaught of rain is deceiving enough to throw me back two hundred steps in the past. This altercation of voices in my head drowns out reason, and I think of you always. My distress is less than evident, although I radiate apprehension. You were so commandeering with your easy smile and feathery touch. Your endearing nervousness was simply a ploy to capture me, just to throw me away like the others. Though undefined, the drive towards you was all consuming, and due to the questionable strategizing by my inane self, I fooled myself into believing I had stolen your unattainable heart. The inexorable truth is what broke my chest; lungs collapsed into themselves when I woke up to nothing but bare walls and cold sheets. Inside my bedroom the resonance of your laughter is endless and it kills me. You are elsewhere and I am here. I struggle to determine the difference between solitude and loneliness, but I will emerge from adversity, scathed yet victorious.
I loved him fiercely, with every fiber of my being. He was my night and day, the electricity lighting up my dark skies. I loved him through every tear that fell, every smile that broke, every promise that evaporated quietly. Every love song was about him, every stolen moment will forever live inside of me. He is a missing puzzle piece, discarded somewhere underneath the couch, hiding. Without him something in me is incomplete. To say he changed me is such an injustice to his memory. Such a trivial word to describe his love. Because every skin cell on my body has been altered to feel more. To love more, to be more. He is my forever even though he is mine no more, and has never really been mine.
This poem is not about you.
The smell of you leaks into the atmosphere and even though it’s been raining for days you still manage to find me after all this way. I’ve kept the pictures of that perfect day but in a sudden cloudy haze they tore into each other until nothing was left save for shredded memories.