The Blank Page.

A little before I entered college I started writing poems. It’s an inspiration drill of mine—when my life experiences influence me, I take a pen and the words flow. I’m usually not quite aware of what I’m writing. It’s a beautiful moment for me because I know that I put my real self—my whole heart and core—into the poem, not just my mind. It isn’t fake, it’s pure.

Most of my poems were about love. Short loves, crushes, sadness and happiness. But in my book of poems, I didn’t include my real love. I could never find the words to describe what we had.

About half a year ago I ended this crazy…romance. The “relationship” changed me completely. I was different when I came out on the other side.

We weren’t together, not really. There isn’t a label for this kind of relationship, it just is. It had a life of it’s own.

We’d known each other our whole lives, which shaped the future of the relationship.

The relationship wasn’t one of many words. It was of feelings, looks and touches. He knew my every bone, I knew his every breath.

Recognizing his scent, in a tram, in a crowded room, on another person passing by, made me fall head over heels. I would lose every sense of my mind, as if I was drugged. When I saw somebody with his posture, his walk, which I know oh so well, my heart would stop for a moment and my body would change temperature.

We’ve all been through this, haven’t we?  That kind of relationship when looking at the other person gives you chills. Just standing next to them makes everything clear. You don’t need words. You just are.

I don’t have words. His page in my book of poetry is empty. How can you put it into words? Is it even possible?

Words would not be enough. I would have to use my blood, my hair, my own flesh, to tell our story. He owned a part of me. I gave a part of myself to him.

And now that it’s all over, I’m trying to get that part of myself back.

I’ve always wondered how people can act as if they don’t know a past love when they see them in the street. Where does the love go? But it’s not just love, is it? It’s so much more. I mean, they shared a life together. Their time, their space, their own body. They were intimate! And now—as if they were strangers.

But about a week ago, I understood. I saw him passing by and didn’t say hello. It wasn’t necessary. I saw it in his eyes. The words wouldn’t be enough, would they?

So I decided to give him two blank pages, instead.

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Relephant Reads: 

Falling Into Love. {Poem}

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Author: Petra Salaric

Editor: Rachel Nussbaum

Photo: Petra Salaric