Sometimes I miss you. I feel guilty it is not all the time. Then I wonder if maybe I really do, but it's too hard, so I suppress it. Wouldn't be surprised.
Everyone sees an improvement - even I. More productive, focused, driven. Genuine - I can even think of others again. Yet, I wonder if they also see the emptiness - or maybe the emptiness was present when you were there, too - nothing extraordinary to notice...
It's amazing how much less stress I have throughout the day - even the night. Night only brings thought and contemplation, but the conscious fear is gone. Sometimes I even dream. Moving on, making plans...or being chased by dead people, awoken by my own screams...depends on the day. The pattern too erratic to note any particular progress.
Each day I check to see if you've denied us yet. I know that day will come, but for now you still throw minute morsels - deniable threads of connections, newly formed - newly requested. You're still alive - neither happy nor sad. You think of me (as I you). You mention me, ill words of course - but words nonetheless.
I half pretend it doesn't affect me, still it's the shirt that keeps me company each night. Only allowing it representation of good - my justification for not washing and putting it back in the drawer. Not ready to not have your back to me while we sleep, the occasional cuddle, or kiss, but at least the almost unfailing good night wish. Whatever I could get back then, whatever I can get right now...can't say which is better or worse. Am I feeling nothing, anything, or am I purposely numb? Hard to say.
Yesterday, the strength was drained. I wept for a second...Too many questions of what happened or is going on. Some concerned, others innocent. All of them real. Too real. Yet again, I must face who you are, not who you claimed to be and I feel defeat.
Longing for someone whom of me would be proud - defend my honor in right or in wrong. Like I do you, despite yourself.....he'll come, but he won't be you. Sad omission. Too real for me right now.
Wishing for hell to freeze over would mean selling my soul. Promises to myself, an attempt at faith. I will meet him, and we will love - soul in tact. He will love me for my triumphs, my mistakes, my dreams, and intentions, but most of all for my heart. This he will strive each day to know better - and the more he knows, the more he loves. Where are you?
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