I hate the way I still fight for you
I hate the way I still hope for you
I hate the way I still ache for you
I hate the way I still cry for you
I hate the way I still crave you
I hate the way I still feel for you
I hate what remains of you
I hate the way
I wonder what’s a greater curse – never knowing love, or having met your greatest love and losing it all.
I called out your name between whimpers and sighs, tears stinging my squeezed-shut eyes, as I clung to the nothingness that is now just your ghost.
Sometimes I like to admire it
It’s as stunning as you are
It shines – it’s captivating
Radiant, breathtaking, unique
Worthy and deserving of its recipient
But not of its giver
All my dreams are of you
calling to say you miss me, too.
11:11 rolled around,
but I didn’t say your name this time.
I said mine.
I was so afraid to relinquish that last piece of invisible thread – that last bit of hope. So I desperately clung to it. Too afraid of what would remain once the hope was lost.
Turns out, I’m still here.
I’m still fighting.
I’m still growing.
I’m still brave.
Hope isn’t gone. It still remains.
It lives within me – for me.
I have a lightness that I haven’t seen in myself in months. I’ve restored the faith in my strength.
In my ability to love. To forgive. To heal.
The good morning texts,
the late-night messages to greet you when you wake.
Counting down the weeks,
the days, the hours.
Knowing your smile will greet me soon.
Needy lips against my own,
weeks of greed and love and longing behind each kiss.
The warmth of your body
reminding me I’m safe,
reminding me I’m home.
Always needy for the comfort of you.
My lips still tremble, my hips still thrash, my body still aches, for only you. Only you. Always you.
You’re my 4 am thoughts, alone in the silence of the night. You’re my 2 pm thoughts, a welcomed distraction in my work day when I’m aching to reach out and rest my hand on your thigh. You’re my 9 am thoughts, craving the warmth of you on all the cold lonely mornings. You’re my 8 pm thoughts, your head in my lap and my fingers through your hair. You’re my 11 pm thoughts, my fingertips aching for your skin to draw you impossibly closer.
If I squeeze my eyes shut, I can pretend your body is right here beside me again. I can pretend your hand is inches from mine, waiting for me to take it. I can reach out and feel your warmth. But then I open my eyes. It’s cold. And I’m numb.
“I’m giving up,” she finally cried.
But, still, she tucked the only key to her heart right there under the welcome mat – nestled safely for if her lover were to someday return. To someday come back home.
I wonder how many more planes I’ll watch—flying overhead just before they touch down—until I stop hoping one would bring you back to me.
It’s hard to even feel you anymore
Slipping away, like a memory
I wonder where I’ll go first,
I’ll hope forever that it’s to you.