It started with a picture. Some words that were once mine. And, of course, a dream.
I once feared parting as if it were in my being to fear it. Like it was written in my soul. I was afraid, nearly every day, and it plagued both my waking and sleeping mind until it happened.
He was there, rushed, near me. He’d leave find her, and return. Frantically he’d place his hands on each side of my face, fear in is eyes and love in his warmth.
I knew he’d turn away before he did. And my soul did not weep. I knew he’d return. I only wish him the best.
Every day I grow closer to submerging myself in loss. Just accepting it as it is, and assuming I’m just crazy. I’m feeling the very end of a wire with a little life left in it. There’s no one at the other end. The vibrations I feel are the buzz of a busy signal. Absence. I call into the void and hear faint replies that add up to indifference. May as well be echoes into the ether. Never to return. Never to spark. Just this vast void that I’ve created and called home because I thought it was a home for us both..But it has only been me, creating waves and speaking to myself. My own voice traveling and bouncing back.
Sometimes I see things I believe to be faint signs. Think for a second or two that my words made it. Believe for a moment that I’m feeling something that is shared. I feel alive and full of lightness. But maybe I’ve been making signs. Shining the light in mirrors and watching it reflect back. Thinking he sent something when he never did.
I feel insane. Experiencing this amount of loss again. Like I’ve traveled back 4 years.
All the same....
I have been creating things I couldn’t have imagined.
Art resulting from lines I’ve written. Sparking a passion and ability I have not seen in so so long. Whether words or paint or ink…they all reveal the same thing.
I ache somewhere deep. Every bleeding color is forest green. Lines thin and upturned at the end. Jagged edges from trembling hands, and imperfections from drops that don’t belong.
I stand somewhere in a headspace of telling myself I’m crazy to believe and feel the things I do, and telling myself that my soul knows, and to trust it....
Which is it?
Loading comments...