but at least I am writing... baby steps.
I sit here, lay here, stand here, curl here.... wishing I could call you; knowing you don't even know who the you is of which I speak. You probably think this is some lover of the past, who I long for, pine for, miss with all of my body and soul... or maybe you think this is an amalgamation of lovers past and present... perhaps you are sure this is about you.... or even still, there is a chance you don't even read this bullshit.
The end is always me crying, but not in the way that you would imagine... or maybe it's exactly how you would imagine the downfall of this cancer plays out.
I cry.
I cry the ugly cry.
I know- hard to believe, eh?
And it's not like we never talk again... It's more just a subtle shutting down, closing in, quieting... And my inner fire dies and my eyes ice over and my chest feels that sinking slow numbing... and I am done.
It happened with her when John died, and her when I couldn't get a job at a temp agency after a phd and 4 years on the academic job market, and it happened with her after that conversation about my tiny home dream and the canceling of my class, and with her when we had drank too much during the day and felt the need to spew all that we had been holding onto for a year and a half or three.
And one or all or none of them is you.
So, I feel myself numb in that sinking, tingling way, wanting to text you.
And I miss you. I miss what I thought you could be. I miss what you were. I miss what I know you can be. I miss who you are. I miss what I imagined we would grow into and I miss wanting to try.
I miss hope.
Even though it was rarely there.
So I sit here, lay here, stand here, curl here.... alone. wishing more than anything, that last word weren't the ending.
But know it is and will always be... so I sit here, lay here, stand here, curl here... and shut. it. down. for good here.
alone
I sit here, lay here, stand here, curl here.... wishing I could call you; knowing you don't even know who the you is of which I speak. You probably think this is some lover of the past, who I long for, pine for, miss with all of my body and soul... or maybe you think this is an amalgamation of lovers past and present... perhaps you are sure this is about you.... or even still, there is a chance you don't even read this bullshit.
The end is always me crying, but not in the way that you would imagine... or maybe it's exactly how you would imagine the downfall of this cancer plays out.
I cry.
I cry the ugly cry.
I know- hard to believe, eh?
And it's not like we never talk again... It's more just a subtle shutting down, closing in, quieting... And my inner fire dies and my eyes ice over and my chest feels that sinking slow numbing... and I am done.
It happened with her when John died, and her when I couldn't get a job at a temp agency after a phd and 4 years on the academic job market, and it happened with her after that conversation about my tiny home dream and the canceling of my class, and with her when we had drank too much during the day and felt the need to spew all that we had been holding onto for a year and a half or three.
And one or all or none of them is you.
So, I feel myself numb in that sinking, tingling way, wanting to text you.
And I miss you. I miss what I thought you could be. I miss what you were. I miss what I know you can be. I miss who you are. I miss what I imagined we would grow into and I miss wanting to try.
I miss hope.
Even though it was rarely there.
So I sit here, lay here, stand here, curl here.... alone. wishing more than anything, that last word weren't the ending.
But know it is and will always be... so I sit here, lay here, stand here, curl here... and shut. it. down. for good here.
alone
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