I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.
thinking about you every day.
i hope i can move forward soon…
i want to feel that type of love again.
im so scared that was once in a lifetime,
something only a movie can portray.
im still grieving,
because ill never see you again.
because this world is so ugly, without you in it.
im still crying,
because i dont know how to make this right within myself.
i want to press rewind, and hear your voice one last time.
who will ever be able to fit your shoes?
im still wondering,
im still walking without any sense of direction,
and im still completely alone.
this is tearing me apart.
i don’t know whether to run, to hide,
to go back to the start,
to wait endlessly on the side,
to drown myself in the lake,
to knock on the door,
to keep walking, or give myself a break.
to start a war,
or to slip away into what i was before.
what road do i take?
which hand do i grasp?
when i’m standing on the dance floor,
do i move, or do i collapse?
i’m alone, and if i would have known
that this stone was going to be thrown,
i still wouldn’t have been prepared.
i still would have cared.
and now i’m scared.
what do i do, without you?
how do i even grieve over your leave-
when all i can do is think about how to relieve
this pain, before it grasps my throat
as quick as i wrote this note.
and this is what i wrote.