I wish people could just say how they feel like ‘Hey I really don’t like when you do that to me’ or ‘Hey I’m in love with you’ or ‘Hi I really miss you and I think about you all the time’ without sounding desperate. Why can’t everyone be painfully honest and just save people the trouble.
I just hope that one day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it.
All of this is to say
I’m having the kind of day
where I break a dish and stand
over the kitchen sink staring
at the two irreparable halves.
Willing myself to feel anything
other than this.
There is no longer a woman
in my body. Just this screaming child
who does not listen.
She only wants. And wants. And wants.
Stubborn in her devotion.
And he is still gone.
And grief is a swamp that sinks
much deeper than you’d expect.
And I’m still here. I still remember him.