Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Dear S, (what i couldn't-wouldn't-shouldn't say):

I don't want you to leave.  But you are.  You should.  You will.  When I get home from work in the morning my home will be empty.  Silent.  A shell.  A mere cavity.  I liken it to a skeleton... with no flesh, no muscles, no organs left - nothing - only the carcass. 

A house.

An empty bedroom.  An empty bed.  Two pillows, but I know only one will be moved.  Which side will I climb into?  It doesn't matter because I know I won't be able to stay there, and soon after I'll move to the couch. 

I never wanted to feel this way.  I fought hard to never feel this way.  I had a hard shell up, protecting myself, protecting my little skeleton... so that I might never have to miss anyone.  Sometimes, often times, the protection came in the form of multiple lovers . . . not allowing myself to get too close to one person - and not allowing one person to get too close to me.  But, I fucked up.  I let you in, and only you, and I let you in completely.  Now . . . now there's fear.

An empty house.  Void.

No laughing kidlets even.  Missing you has brought the missing them right back up to the surface.  Opened the wound right back up.  And I'm bleeding.  I'm bleeding all over the place and I don't know what to do about it.  Because this is the kind of blood letting that I'm told is 'good for me.'

Each morning when I wake I reach for you, and I find you.  This overwhelming sense of joy washes over me.  Yesterday morning this was followed by relief, 'She's still here.' Next came the emotion of great sorrow, 'This is our last morning together for awhile.'

Then the tears started.  And I closed my eyes and saw Motherless looking back at me.  (Oh how I wish you could know her.  She is such a wonderful young woman.)  As I had my eyes closed, I was seeing Motherless look back at me, and I was remembering the time she and I spent together in my dream.  Time I can't get back.  Because I'm awake.  I started sobbing.  Full on sobbing.  Do you remember? 

You woke too.  I woke you.  Our day began.  Precious hours.  Time we cannot get back. 

I don't want you to leave.  But you are.  You should.  And you will.

4 comments:

Candice said...

:( I hope you're wrong.

Becca said...

Hopefully not for good? :(

Asya said...

She didn't want to leave either ( a little birdie told me).

Elle said...

No Becca... not for good... Just until there is adequate closet space.