And then we weren’t.
I learned more about you in our ending than I did in those two years
One minute you were my Heathcliff.
The man that I had looked for all of my life.
The next, a paltry reproduction. All of your pretty words dispersing like the death of a Tempe dust storm.
I will make peace with never understanding.
I will cease longing for something that never was.
I will heal
But I will always wish that I didn’t have to.
Long liquid breaths fill my lungs
An ache, born in my skull, spreads through my limp body
A rush of salt, and spasms.
This is what I want... what I’ve been waiting for
Fantasies of my swollen body, split in the sun
Pecked by seagulls, picked by *****
All of them I envy
They are real
I am not real. I never have been.
I wrote this in college. My professor’s only comment: “if this is how you really feel, you need to seek help”. By then I had felt this way for so long that I didn’t understand that it was abnormal. That was 25 years ago. Not long after, I was hospitalized and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I’m lucky to be able to say that I only feel this way every few months, now. If you feel this way, know that you don’t have to. You can get help. Believing that it exists is the hardest part.
There’s a way with you,
how you see all of me
pulling me out
naked and unashamed
Not only finding my heart, but showing me the path too.
One day, maybe, you’ll let me sift through your ravaged parts
I can’t fix them,
but we’ll merge them with mine
and create something beautiful
— The End —