I replaced you with shot glasses and wine stained lips, with smoke filled lungs and drunken promises. My head full of yesterdays, my rib cage growing, or my heart shrinking. I have not the capacity to know which.
Your presence is replaced with longing and ache. An ache like embers of a fire. Dull lighting, and shifty eyes. How did I get here, chasing un-catchable shadows with a butterfly net?
There’s an emptiness in me, growing with every breath. Restless and thirsty. And my heart will never be still.
Do you remember… Do you remember the night I told you I loved you? I stood in front of you, naked and bare-boned. Throwing myself into the darkness. My hands shook and my insides rattled. The moon the shape of the slivers my mother use to pull from my finger tips.
My heartbeat, a line begging to be pulled and the distance between us could fill oceans. And I felt myself fall into it. I lay ruins at your feet, falling onto my own sword with the insanity of these sprinting thoughts.
If only you knew from the beginning, I bring my own matches and light myself on fire, as time is the oxygen feeding the flames. And I’ll write you into my world, letters onto my skin. And my words will make you immortal. Because all of this time I spent, keeping you out of my words, trying to make myself believe you weren’t worth the ink, you grew larger than life. And once you leave, I’ll only have memories, because those fade everyday.
I’ve come a long way away from myself in the past few years. I look in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back at me. And I suppose that isn’t exactly a bad thing. I’ve grown leaps and bounds, but I always seem to find myself back to where I started. Point A. I’ve shed bits and pieces of myself. Pieces I never wanted to lose. And now I am, once again, a hollowed shell of myself. Am I still in there somewhere? How do I learn to allow myself to be happy? And to hold on to the happiness just as I do the sadness? I’m terrified of letting go of all the anger and grief that I cling to, to only become a watered down version of myself. What if all of that is what makes me who I am?
& What would be left of me?
I know I can be the poison in your veins, the smoke in your lungs. And all this time, I’ve been a heavy, closed box, sealed shut. A deep well, even the bucket wont reach to, that you’ve been dying to dip your toe in. You tried to be my anchor. You tried to ground me. Never realizing, it wasn’t ground I needed to be on. I’ve lived all my life, at the end of one rope or another. It’s the only way I know how to survive. I can’t hold on to happiness. I don’t know what to do with it. I have an understanding with my sadness. It lives within me, with an agreement to never let it go.
I’ve hid behind my fear, a coward in my own nature. Never realizing the courage wasn’t in the running, in letting go. It was just being. So please, appreciate the difficulty in this. Understand my lack of being. This is entirely foreign to me.
I’ve never asked anyone this, until now.
Stay here. Stay with me. Stay. Just fucking stay.
Sometimes all you can do is dig in and wait for the kickback.