So, you can’t keep it. The obstacles— insurmountable. You would think from how much we try to hold on so tight, keep it alive, go back to the start.
It is not our fault, Love, but Life’s.
Everything that used to mean most, the first nervous smiles, the seemingly insignificant walk down the gum ridden, littered concrete; you remember the glow of the street lights. The one last look in any reflective surface, to make sure that one hair that always falls to the left, is right. You came to love my hair most in the mornings, disheveled and tangled. You came to love my wounded heart that I tried to shield for as long as my eyes and quivering chin were seen in the sunlight that first time. Now, your hand cups my face, graze past my eyes, just to make sure.
I told you about the words, the words that scarred me most and the words that saved me. How a piece of blank paper was the only thing I controlled. So I became the architect. I molded words I never felt effective, prior to you. Alarming and terrible was life outside that perfect dream. You held me and said “I will always hold you this tight. Always.” And so, I held. We held, significantly so, for longer than we could actually bear. Day by day we just were waiting in a queue. The next ones to fall. The last ones to let go.
And when we fell, we collapsed, separating right down the middle. It was silent. The fault lines, finally crumbling inward and landing all melded together—in the end, we didn’t fit perfectly. The leftover pieces just arranged sporadically throughout the few that held on. Isolated, attempting to fit… just somewhere. The skin off my back held on to the wall as I slid down, my own body neglecting these hollow bones. Down, sinking.
The parts of myself I’ve lost, between us. The depth of this weight, of the bitterness, but mostly guilt. Harboring its serrated edges and rusty lines. Grabbing, open palmed and tight. The wound now gaping, unclothed and flowing freely. And they’ll wonder how they couldn’t have seen it before. Or maybe they did, but it was easier to always just walk away.
It is easier— walk away.
To love you, was to love a hallow barge. So vast and empty. The iron, warm and impressive from the outside. Always with a heaviness, though. And with a steady struggle this little vessel strains to cart your weight, but then just to be ridiculed.
I came to despise the smell of the mixing salt that encircled us always. The wearing silence I tried to erase with tightly weaved legs and feet, the warmth I always thought meant something.
The inches I took for miles, the tediousness of dissecting the words and looks that had no meaning, or longing. Sometimes, it really is just a look. It’s okay, green eyes, that you never were beautiful.
Down-turned and sodden, desolate. It was you who made the light disappear. I’ll take heart in knowing, your heart, holds nothing of mine. Your mind will remain feeble, but will hold the flashes you’ll never be able to erase. I’ll be that picture real clicking on an empty doorway. Eyelashes, collar bone, and the softness of my skin in your decaying hands. A laugh, brightness echoes through your cold hallways.
You’ll never elude it; enveloping you most in the early mornings. Falling asleep and waking bound by these thoughts.
I will keep my upturned glances into you, through you, and your hands holding me down. The recycled personas, and the tender touch that was only learned, never, truly, felt.
So how long, how much longer, will I have to wind myself up once the sun rises? Until the pulling and straining out of this pit of tar, becomes just too much. Its dark and boiling, I’m trying. My eyes unoccupied and this dark film is coating them, almost completely. I look for ways out, I still reach for; you. Shaking and burning the exhaustion flows through my fingers. A part of me, welcomes the impending quiet. But, this isn’t peace, and I plant my sinking feet into the collapsing foundations and simply, pull.
With an anxious breath. With open eyes. With undoubtable potential.
I will escape this.
But first, one last stroke of weakness. Falling back in to you, I ran. Into your arms, and your eyes still empty. Expressionless while every inch of me burns with fervor. I pour myself into everything I try to memorize. This, I know, the last time. My face on your chest, my fingers holding on to the green cotton like a life-line, the shallowness of our breathing, the cool breeze and the hot sun on my bare shoulders. It was, a beautiful day.
The muscles contracting making it hard to smile, physically hurting while my lips turn upwards. I feel down your face like I’m sightless, I feel like I might crumble as we kiss.
On the blue horizon I penned every truth and stuck them in your pocket, addressed to you.
You’re walking away, stepping over the cracks in the concrete. There’s nothing I hear other than just one heart beat. With a deep breath, my lungs bruised, I am still.