I love you.
On most days I feel it coming up my throat and I have to close my eyes. So that the universe does not stand still. So that I don’t run back to you.
I love you.
Some days though, I have to pack it up and leave it under my pillow and go on with my day.
It’s been four years – my heart stays faithful and true.
Stop by my graveside some time
And put flowers at the headstone of my heart.
Wondering again, how contentment tastes like in my life
Extract from Alicia Keys – Lesson Learned with John Mayer
“
He’s teased your eyes
30 seconds
To apologizeYou give him
One more chance
Just like the time before
But he already knows
You’d give a hundred more(Until that night in bed
You wake up
In a sweat
You racing to the door
Can’t take it anymore)
It hurts to think about your silence. To reflect on your absence. So I don’t. Instead I nurse the empty hollowness in my stomach and the way my heart cringes at the thought of another human. I have to nurse my heart. I have to dab at its wounds softly and be gentle. It does not want to know any other fire besides the one your eyes emit.
You’ve had all sorts of conversations with him in your head. He arrives. He’s finally here. Opens up his arms. You fall into them. The same way water runs in a river. You would tell him how much you have missed him if his presence didn’t fill up your mind with so much smoke. You can only stare as your heart lands right at his feet.
I picked up this line from one of my favorite blogs. It just resonated with me and I thought let me share.
”I am not afraid of confronting storms, of being broken without the prospect of being mended again. Just so you know, I sometimes chase hurt so I have things to write about so do not shine your ego with thoughts of you you broke the spirit of a strong woman by you own doing. Never that. I fell for you on purpose”
If you want to read the whole post, here is the link. http://raelyricscribes.com/category/fiction-2/woman-to-woman-tales/
One of my fave’s
He was the pieces that kept your throat together, from bursting because the heart stays there , constantly, alongside his name. He was the parts of you that your mother tried to conceal from the boys. She warned about how they come and want to make a home in your uterus.
But never about the man that comes, reaches for you, touches you like his love depends on you never breaking, never skipping a breath. She never told you about the man whose lips carve his name on your skin, steals your sanity and walks away with it slowly, leaving you to fend for the missing parts you never knew existed.
You were only warned about the boys that come and want to toy with you and tire you out because honestly boys never know where to begin with you.
She should have told you that that man will bring you winter in summer. That your soul grows cold, that all the poems in the world will never heal you. She didn’t tell you that men like him build homes in your rib cage but never long enough to settle in and have supper with your heart.
You should know, women mourn men like him as if they birthed them. You will mourn him till you catch your breath and realize an eternity later, he still resides in the depths that your soul reaches.
You should have buried him before he kissed the back of your neck with the stars glancing down on you, before he said all he feels for you is scary and terrifying, before he could look at you and draw out your soul with his eyes, before touching him felt like a bolt of fire, before his hands on your body made you think you’ve glimpsed heaven, before you could break down his words and breathes and attempt suicide by trying to figure out what he meant.
Before he killed you by just merely saying your name, before your name, in his mouth, constituted to daggers and spades in your heart.
But he always tasted like he belongs. And you found a way not to die from his poison. Yet you are buried somewhere deep between closure and your hot scorching memories of him.
Memories of his power and his poetry.
I would have been a lost scroll had it not been your handwritten kisses on my shoulder. I find it odd that you resemble the lost happiness I left at the doorstep of my sanity when he left. All along I’ve been finding pieces of him with bodies I lay with. And all the ghosts they brought with them? We sat and had lemon water with their pasts to discuss the black hole he left inside.
He could have set me on fire and I’d still be up like this remembering the home that he built for me in his arms. But I’m scrolling this cause your arms felt like home too.
Im sorry though. I do not mean to hornet over him in a note to you. I just need you to know that I have walked on hot sands attempting to burn his memory and remove him from my soul. I failed.
I failed many times.
But you, you remind me of a time when all my happiness was within reach. Your skin tastes like caramel flavored smiles. And your voice is like a special place to live in. The truth is I didn’t see his ghost in you. I was so nervously shocked. I was hurt. Sometimes you live with sadness. Sadness and loss. You live with them and they become your companions. That is all I’ve known lately. I grew accustomed to laying next to hot bodies and cold emotions with every thought aligned to him, my heart screaming for him.
The truth is my darling, you will not find your broken heart in my uterus. You will not heal by burying your pain on my body.
Listen. I thank you.
Even though I know this will end in me running back to a place where he hurt me and not your arms. I must thank you for allowing me to bask in your kingdom. I do not know how it will end for you. Maybe you will go back to she whom you call home. You’re majestic. You’re godly. And I could love you. But love is a concept I haven’t conquered. And you lie besides me thinking of her ghosts. Her canvas and the only love you received. I let you knowing that you’re thinking of her smile and her skin but maybe not her love.
Here is the thing: I never found my healing in other people. You will not stumble upon yours in my presence either. Your healing is not in my smile or laughter or eyes. I am not medicine.
I hope you bury your ghosts. I left mine in your bed.
My soul has not returned. I left it somewhere between your fingers and lost it in your crooked smile. It burns daily with your cigarettes and the blunts you roll awkwardly. It cruises with you, daily, listens to your music. My soul has not returned. Pieces of it will forever be found in your eyes and your sweat and other hollow pieces will be hidden somewhere in the back of the sound that your heart beat makes.
Mish Factor 