Tag: coping

I Don’t Want to Know

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What would it be to live without you?

At this point I don’t want to know.

My life was dark before I met you

And you were the brilliant sun.

Why would I even want to consider going without those sunny days,

though now they are few and far between.

Infusing me with warmth still to this day,

I live for those sunny days.

Dreadful though the following cloudy days may seem,

the momentary gleam is worth any darkness.

One day, perhaps the darkness won’t be so suffocating;

perhaps you won’t be the only ever-present sun.

Until then,

I don’t want to know.

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Hope this finds you well,

-L.

You Again

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Here you are again,

Meeting me in dreams.

Dreams that try to blur reality

But the harshness of daylight takes no prisoners.

Meeting you in dreams,

Again,

Feels like finally being able to breathe;

Feels like the missing piece of my soul has clicked back into place.

It’s better than any high a drug could offer me.

It’s because I’ve never loved anyone as much as I loved that boy, that you, that us.

Love that strong lingers and now spans decades.

Hopefully it reaches across dimensions and lifetimes to others where we stay together and the fates are kinder to us.

Dreaming you,

Again,

Is a sweet torture unlike any other.

Midnight texts from you feel similar.

Wishing, always wishing, that goodbye could have meant forever and that we wouldn’t have entered this limbo.

Wishing that reality wasn’t so harsh that my subconscious pulls you to me to soothe my ragged edges and give me comfort I find only in dreaming of you,

Again.

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Hope this finds you well,

-L

Thanks, December

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I want to die again

Thanks, December. 

The year weighing heavily on me;

The new one even heavier. 

The sins of the past,

The mistakes of the future. 

Digging myself out or digging myself under? 

Time passing me by, 

Life drifting on its way. 

Here I stay,

No longer moving forward. 

Always looking behind, 

Stuck dreading ahead. 

Trying to breathe through the fog I feel in my soul. 

Maybe next December. 

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Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you are thinking of suicide there is help available. In Canada call 9-8-8.

Glass House

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I feel like I’m living in a glass house; like everyone walking by me can see me falling apart, can see the hole in my chest, and can see how much of a wreck I am.

Because of you.

I can’t let people close to me, I can’t let them in.

They might take one look at my tired eyes and see right through me.

They might see all this pain,

This turmoil,

These crashing waves.

They might see it all.

The hopelessness of never seeing dawn again after this darkness.

The wishing, the waking, the wanting.

The waiting.

Waiting for this grief I live in to overwhelm me for good and to take me away,

Away from this glass house.

Hope this finds you well, 

-L

Homesick

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Home to me was never a place,

Always a feeling.

I let you in and

Then

Home had a center again.

It had its own gravitational pull.

I wanted to be home all the time.

Without you in my life,

Except for one month out of the year,

Wanting to go home becomes excruciating.

I want to go home.

Since home became a person,

I’ve never truly had a home.

I still have yet to find one,

My mind and body still yearning for you;

For home.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

You Always Come Back to Me

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I made my therapist cry today; explaining how this makes me feel, even all these years later.

Like grieving a best friend’s passing and missing them like missing a part of you. Until one day the wound heals and you don’t miss them quite as much.

Then suddenly you get the opportunity to talk to them, to hear they’re okay.

I’ve never been able to turn down the opportunity.

Neither have you.

I don’t miss you ever as much as I miss you every September.

You always come back to me in the fall.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Dreaming You

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A dream I have every so often is a reunion with you.

We’re both 18.

It feels like we’ve found a spot where the film between lifetimes and dimensions is so thin that we’ve slipped through.

I look across to the passenger seat of my old car and there you are.

It feels like yesterday; your hug feels like it’s today. The ache I feel is gone and the piece missing from my soul has clicked back into place. I can breathe again. Never has any hug felt so good and I can’t imagine another one ever will.

Waking without you is either the most searing pain or like the calm after the storm. I never know which it’ll be and still I’d dream this dream one thousand times.

Maybe I already have.

Until the next lifetime, I’ll be seeing you; dreaming you.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Miss Me Less

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You miss me. I can hear it in your voice.

Every time you wish me kisses for my birthday, are you wishing me yours?

Will this tether we have ever let us go?

I need to breathe in September.

Missing you while awake and while sleeping won’t let me.

I miss you too.

That’s the great divide.

September comes yearly and with it comes you.

Miss me less next year.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If Memories Were Ink

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I’ve been trying to write about myself but all that comes easily to paper is you.

That’s all I have left.

Maybe if I write enough, I can let go.

With each swoop and loop, may the ink take away the knowing and the missing, the feeling and the lingering.

Take the vividness and the longing.

May all the memories be the ink that comes to dry across pages instead of tears that streak across my cheeks.

I don’t really want to forget.

I can never really forget.

I’m certain that eventually all pens run out of ink.

Here’s to writing and to hoping.

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Hope this finds you well,

-L

My Terracotta Heart

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Here I am, hoping, with my terracotta heart.

Hoping, once again, that one fall will be too little to send shards of my heart flying through the air.

Too many times I’ve gathered the pieces together and swept the floor.

The only cleaning ritual that ends without satisfaction.

There is no relief at the sight of neat piles and clean floors, only the knowledge of the work that now looms overhead.

Reconstruction.

Reconfiguration.

Refortification.

All so I can sit and hope again.

This time maybe I’ll wish too, with my terracotta heart.

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Hope this finds you well,

-L