Just stretching my writing wings. Working on conveying emotion through words, maybe first in a series of short exercises in different emotions.
You moved on before I even left, you had moved on months before I even knew. You had a different view on your horizon than I did, but didn't have it in you tell me that we were heading in separate directions. I laid awake at night wondering what was wrong, why things felt so strange. And you lay awake wondering how you were going to tell me, you no longer wanted everything with me. You once told me that you wanted everything with me and that was the sentiment I clung to through the hard times like an anchor in an angry sea.

The dust is settling and all I want is to feel you wrap your arms around me tightly as a winter storm blows snow in through our open window. All I want is to feel your breath on my neck, melting the chill, your arm over my body too heavy and too hot.

None of that is mine any more. It's hers. Hers to have. Not mine.

Some nights I just lay in bed, writing, trying to let the feelings inside out onto paper, escape through my fingers. I feel though that there aren't enough words to properly drown the thoughts that threaten to spin my head right off. There isn't a word in the English language to describe the way my soul feels empty as the darkness of night closes in and my breathing is the only sound I hear. There's no comfort in letting the feelings out into the still air. They circle around me like vultures waiting for me to slowly drown.

But none of this is your problem anymore. You've made it, so that our problems are no longer intertwined, so that I can no longer roll over and poke you awake to tell you that I'm sad, scared, alone, whatever. Sometimes I still roll over and tell the empty pillow next to me that I am sad, and that I hate it. I wish I could fucking hate you.

I try to go to bed early like I used to, wake up early, sun not risen, feeling refreshed, but I can't. I lay there tossing and turning filled with hate and longing and loneliness and I wake up past 10, feeling the hangover of the emotional baggage I've been carrying around. Nothing feels good anymore. Everything is tainted by the mess you made when you told me you loved me all those years ago. Everything is shaded by the way I clung on to you despite everything in my head that screamed at me to run away. I flicked a switch and shut it off, though to follow my heart. I wish I could flick the switch back to shut off my heart. That bitch is noisy and she won't stop talking about you.
Published: 3/14/2017
Bouquets and Brickbats