Sometimes it’s more that you’re missing the part of yourself that was taken when they left, rather than the thief themselves. You jump every time your phone buzzes hoping it’s a message from that piece reassuring you it is safe now in hands more gentle than the ones that took it from you, that it is being put to good use. That although there was no instruction manual, it found it’s place quite nicely nuzzled in another chest. And that it misses you, but somehow feels it is better off. You look at the patchwork that is yourself and all of who you are that is bit’s of other people while trying to remember if that was ever a part of you that you had a right to let be taken away – that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Taken? Or was it ever even yours to own? You are emptier now, a little lighter. A little heavier in the parts around this now gaping hole. But hopefully the next lesson will fit nicely in that cave. Hopefully it is something the skin of your soul won’t reject.
It’s pathetic really. How all I can think of is how your hands felt on my neck, wondering how it felt to be given all that I was giving to you. How I know that fixing a person isn’t about showing them that what they can’t do is possible, but I did it anyway. It’s so sad how people are not really gardens, love does not make them grow. They digest it and use it to fuel themselves forwards but they never learn how to produce it. All I can think about is kissing you and I’m glad I’m not an idiot because holding onto this would have made me more of a failure than letting go, but at least I would be thinking about your mouth with intent instead of regret.
At least I would be thinking about your mouth with intent instead of regret.
You miss him. At 11PM when he’s laying beside you and you wait too long after eating ice cream to kiss him with a cold mouth, because somehow that means “I love you” without having to say it. You miss him when he’s lost in his thoughts or when you’re lost in yours and the only good thing is that you get the missing in now. You’re begging the universe that you won’t have to too much in the future. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you miss him the most right before he tells you he has to leave at 6:30AM to move the care because even though nothing changes your mouth is now warm, and wet, and lonely and you’re forgetting what it’s like to have his words melting on your tongue. Even though you swore everything he said was tattooed on the inside of your cheek. You miss him when the bed is empty and warm.
Cut throat razors will remind me of you,
like cut throat words remind you of me.
I will remember yogurt scooping,
cake bringing, ice cream eating,
and messy room.
But how will you remember pushy,
on-time, omelet making,
and clean freak.
When you might be remembering
skinny dipping, house rules, nice bum,
doesn’t like chocolate,
and daddy issues.
But then again you might think I remember
socially awkward, baggy pants, always late,
big mistakes, you deserve more
and nice eyes.
What I know we know is special chocolate chip cookies,
stigmas, stahp, late night Wendy’s,
cry-laughing, medium double-double,
and eskimo kisses.
Safety-pinned socks will remind me of you,
like safety-pinned seams remind you of me.