Missing

It’s been such a long time, it could be ten thousand years. Time passes faster when you cry all your tears. Last time I looked back I could only see my feet. I never saw the sky, I missed a treat, and I miss my old life. I can only look back and cry. I miss my future, but it is too late I say, and I cry for the passing time all of the day.

‘There are blue skies and a cold yearning face. Catching the breeze with eyes closed in embrace. Swirling on tip toes, hearts lifted in the air, wind cool on the fingertips but chilled in the stare. Longing and heartache kept warm all the while. Never a dry eye let down by goodbye. She holds it all in still after many have cared. But don’t tell her you’re leaving, don’t stroke her there.’

I take off my robe in ankles held deep. My hands fill the water with each step of my feet. The waves fully clothe me until I am replete. I disappear from view and drown in this pain, and I miss my future, but I can see the stars now, over and over and over again.

Inside

Inside my head there is a story with plots and angles, arcs and curve balls, twists and turns, reality and make believe, mystery, assumptions and clever word play. Inside my head there is a dream where clarity resounds and bleeds into fuzz and fur, where the abstract becomes meaningful and reality becomes the nightmare, contained. Inside my heart there is a man who is part story, part dream and daydream. I can see it but dismiss it. I hear it but then forget it. When I feel it, only then do I fully understand.

I feel like I have been hit by a truck and someone else is feeling all of the pain. I can’t thank them enough for that. It’s like I am treading water waiting for the sharks to come. The more weary I grow, and the more blood spills, they will probably come – such is the nature of grief.

It feels like my heart is breaking before it sinks, while being manically held aloft with another kind of love. I’m trying to fill gaps like plugging a boat full of holes that is somehow kept afloat, until it finally sinks due to a sad lacking.

I am not unique, and I know this happens to everybody at some point when we find ourselves the reluctant passenger on a journey through a process, but I will be glad if somewhere on the way; before this journey’s end, I can stop to remember and smile and  not just wait to be bitten.