sight_unseen
My mind spirals again,
Thoughts streaming around like smoke trying to find a crack.
A crack in the work I do daily to hold it all together.
But now the work seems as if mortar to bricks;
Fallible over time.
I’ve no leg to stand on.
Only one constant:
Anxiety.
.
.
.
-L
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.
.
.
.
Hope this finds you well,
-L.
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.
.
.
.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
If you are thinking of suicide there is help available. In Canada call 9-8-8.
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
Every September, here you come again.
Here to drag my heart around:
Down the roads we used to drive,
Through the fields we used to farm,
Over the couches we used to kiss on,
Around the sunlit days we used to fall in love.
Dragging.
Bruised and sore, but willing nonetheless.
Is it really dragging or
Perhaps pulling;
Carrying.
I’d follow you and memory lane anywhere.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
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
I can’t control dreams,
But if I could,
I would steer them away from you.
I have no desire to dream of utopia but wake and live in reality.
Dreams bring me to you, to us; to our other dimension, as we used to say.
The dreams aren’t real but the feelings I awake with sure are.
If I can only have moments of you in dreams, perhaps I should stay asleep so I can keep dreaming.
Alas, I cannot control dreams.
.
.
.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
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.
.
.
.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
11:04pm
9:59pm
00:05am
10:27pm
Relegated to darkness; our connection never allowed to see the light of day.
Thank the guilt for that, perhaps circumstance.
We burned too brightly then, now, so much less deserving.
Still we linger, clinging to that promise of darkness.
Never chancing dusk; never daring morning.
I’ll take it.
I’ll take any time with you.
The stars we traded from sunlight will have to do.
I just wish us many more starlit nights and moonbeams, my love.
May the darkness hold us close and cherish our secrets as much as we do.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
My pen bleeds onto paper ever September.
Melancholy is my muse.
To millions, this month is a beginning; to me, it’s always a goodbye.
The seasons change and drag us along with them. As the leaves turn from green to yellow, and then to brown, my mood begins the same change.
Perhaps I’ll always be sad in the fall; who wouldn’t be if they’d lived the same autumns that I have.
Missing, always. Madness too.
The leaves dry, as do my tears.
I wish to crumple up with them on the ground and let September pass me by while my pen bleeds me dry.
Hello, September.
Goodbye.
.
.
.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
Sight Unseen 