Tearing

This poem was written in November. After nearly two months, I still hadn't gotten over him. I haven't gotten over him now.

The edges of the wallets of this photo album are scratching my fingers

If I run them along in the right way, will blood be drawn, I wonder?

As it is, they tear at me: tear at my heart, tear at my soul -

To me life seems to be one great big tear

 

in the fabric of my universe

A hollow gap is present too

Where something used to be

And if you asked me to describe what that was...

I wouldn't; I couldn't; I'd be a fool to try

 

Just know that that something was affection, comfort, completeness

and that it existed in a physical form too.

 

Tainted.

That's how I feel, aside from hollow and empty and numb and upset

My emotions have been scarred

On a deeper level than is visible sometimes but like all things under the surface

this eventually comes up for air

 

Breathe...

How can I breathe? How can things be so beautiful?

How can I still admire, be inspired, and desire

for things beyond my reach

when everything was perfect?

 

Longing.

Come back, dear part of me,

so large a part of life

You were my childhood and all of those

too brief years of adolescene

I came through most the teenage years

but you stopped.

You departed. you left me

 

Alone.

I'm not alone but when you were here

I was never alone.

and now I am.

I could cry into you and you wouldn't ask about life's complications

And I swear I'll never be whole about you

I swore I'd never be whole without you

 

At least I realised

At least I knew what you meant to me

I did well, didn't I? We rarely ever fought.

I'm sorry I didn't see you all the time,

but I knew you were there. And you knew I was too.

I hope you knew how much I loved you.

I certainly tried to tell you

 

Understanding

Even when you didn't, it was better than people being okay with their misunderstanding

And sometimes it helps to not be understood. it takes away the pressure of understanding oneself

or something like that: emotions are blurred to me like the tears which linger at my eyes

like the memories which linger in my mind

 

I love you

not loved, love

A part of me is dead but that part

was not my total capacity to love

I'm glad

Gladder than I can say

And that's what this is about, really:

What I cannot say

 

The edges of the wallets of this photo album are scratching my fingers

If I run them along in the right way, will blood be drawn, I wonder?

I close the pages and stroke that outward-facing photo of a younger me

A me who saw you so much clearer than I

Such an enviable child

The End

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