It dosen’t hurt yet; it doesn’t feel real, the way you left, that you left. Many plans are now to be denied their time in reality. The kisses we stole from the hours mirrored an intimacy that reached into my soul and turned the fiery flames of a young love to deep-burning coals. Our shared moments were so blissful they now tug at my heart, making demands of pain and seeking to draw me into a false bliss, but it’s still just darkness in there—an empty space that seems to have shrunken to black hole proportions, engulfing every and all feeling. It’s numbness and it’s existence now—not living; merely an absence of nothingness in the space that’s mine to occupy in this time.
They say the pain is coming…that how long this insensitivity persists says just how much sorrow your mind’s trying to protect you from—in its own little way; that my defenses are soon to break down, and the heart ripping, the soul wrenching, the bile, the hatred, the agony will take what is owed them.
Maybe it’ll be better than this, this feeling that all we had never truly was. Maybe then, you’ll step out of the blackness into my dreams, or send your scent into the air currents. Maybe then, I’ll read the lines we scribbled under love’s tutelage, and not think them alien. Maybe then I’ll stop wondering why I sit for hours at a park bench, looking at a tree that has two sets of initials carved in a little heart, one very much mine. Maybe then, my heart will not just beat that I may breathe and exist, but thump that I may breathe and live and dare to love again.
Or maybe not. But for now, I’ll lie here in the arms of the dark and hope the light dosen’t stop trying to get in.