We met and it erupted immediately into a force strong and overwhelming. Held firm by tragedies bond and kept in motion by our mutual love for words. Your flow and use of the English language made my heart spin. Your cadence was rare with a unique interpretation of life, love, and heartache. Your tongue was a sword played out through lines that all the world could see. They drew me in and kept me there. I would often go back and read your journey, then our journey. It was a precious gift to see it unfold over and over and just as much a tragedy, to see it unwind.
Your inability to maintain or understand the space between us wore on me. You loved to hang on to the distance and replayed that scenario time and time again. I know you are probably working on your next encounter – from a distance no less. Looking now, it seems it is your way to not have to deal with the full fledged responsibility of being a man.
It was always far too much for you to handle the reality of moving past, that which was so unwillingly left behind. Hidden in pains foliage you choose to not uncover unless pressed, still then, just in pieces. Respectfully ignored, lovingly curious but not pushed. Still I see what she left. It is written all over your work. Scribbled in silence and forced awake by memories and nightmares. I know you bury, but I also know it haunts. It stunted your growth. Made you incapable of giving anything close again, to what was there. You said I was “your now”, but your silence spoke much louder – than that claim ever did.
There are so many things I could drive into your head that broke my back. Really I was just never treasured for the gift I was. I gave you everything and wanted so badly for you to know the extent of, not only my sacrifices, but the permanent motions I created within our world. They are stuck now in my life’s thread. I gave that to you, and you never once made me feel like it was special. It was a social inability and an emotional malfunction I was unable to help you fix. Your highs where of the highest that dragged me in like the oceans tide. Captivating me and making me feel safe. Your lows were damaging and left me in a box to find no closure or understanding.
Lovingly you told me you would not lose me easily. Your silence was deafening as I walked away that day. No struggle, and now… there is just quiet.
What poetic justice I weep from my pages
Yet I feel no sense of peace
Painting clouds with my finger tips across an empty palette
A canvass that mimics hope yet whispers only dreams
You can’t speak of change
When I Look at you and see the same
You can’t speak of love
When I can’t feel you break through me
I remember when
You speak of nothing
No difference from one day to the next
Mediocre in this questionable decision
Maybe the hope is within a dream
Or maybe the needle has passed through
The two pieces have become
I remember when you told me
You would not give me up without a fight
When I walked away
You laid down so easy
And still you speak
My closure lay in a yesterday, I had to find it myself. He was not even man enough to give me that. This plays as my regurgitation, of a painful moment past.
My peace is now brilliant in this morning. I am awakened by a reality that I am loved. My past moon has been blown to orbit, but I don’t regret. One day a beautiful man will arise from that wreckage. I just could no longer sit in his silence or dwell in his dark.
I am squinting at a sun I can’t deny, with every intention of bottling what this is. What stands before me now only clarifies my past. Now I am given some overdue peace for what my future could be. Making clear so many things, that had previously lay fuzzy and dormant.