View this post on Instagram
This morning I woke up on high alert
overly aware that the warmth of your touch on my skin
was only the ghost of a dream.
My legs thrashing beneath the sheets,
a helpless reaction to my thudding heart in my chest.
My mind is racing
trying to understand how one minute you were here
and gone the next.
Is it too presumptuous to say that the happiest times of your life
have been spent by my side?
I remember the glow in your eyes amidst
our quiet happy life.
We were happy in love,
sharing mutual heart-space in this chaotic world.
They say that love only thrives when two people learn to grow together.
Loving you created a version of me I didn’t recognize:
beautiful, spirited, radiant, and new.
Falling in love with you put me back together
in the darkest time of my life,
and birthed a goddess-like woman
with a thirst for adventure.
You used to ask me if I loved you
in our teasing language
and I would say, “Yes of course,”
and you would ask, “How much?”
and I would say, “With all my heart.”
You would ask me how much I loved you
and I would say, “So much it hurts.”
I know that I am supposed to forget about us.
Everyone insists that I should let go,
allow my love to slip into hatred.
Though I never want to forget the adventure of you,
whatever small piece of my life you fit into.
Of all the love in my life,
nothing has felt like you.
I still dream about sunset chasing;
racing toward a painted sky dripping into twilight.
I fantasize about sleepy front porch mornings
bathing in cantaloupe sun
reading separately but together.
I am still aching for wind whipping through my hair,
a feeling just on the border of flying.
I love the way you danced with my demons
because you knew all of the steps,
for they have been living between your ears for some time.
I love your sweet smile
and the way that your inner child plays with mine.
I’m crying fat, black mascara-clogged tears
just thinking that this kind of love exists;
love so big that it’s all-consuming.
That there might actually be love that lasts a lifetime.
Though I am a fantasy woman,
a fun idea.
I am not the delicate woman who will cook all of your meals.
I am not the woman who waits patiently for you to come home.
I’m not the woman who cleans your house or folds your laundry.
I am a woman starved for adventure.
I fantasize about the mountains that we will climb
and the sunrises we will watch when we get there.
You know me better than anyone else.
So I know you take comfort in the fact that
when I love,
I love hard,
that if I ever loved you
a piece of me always will.