I miss you so much. I know I’m not supposed to. Im not supposed to verbalise it.
I’m supposed to be on top of the world right now. But I miss you. So much it hurts. Still.
I’m not even supposed to write this.
Maybe I should just delete everything and start again writing where you’ll never find me. That would be best for you, right. Best for me too.
I broke.
I’m broken.
I saw a psychic. A proper one. She saw right through me. She saw you. She knew us. She knew everything about me. Everything. Down to the last detail. Warts and all. It was the most uncomfortable feeling I’ve ever had. Everything I’ve hidden laid bare.
She said we shared a past life. She knew how intense we were. She knew it all. Scarily so.
I should really let you go.
I’m trying.
I’ve been meditating and working through my energy blockages. It’s brought up so many memories that I’d repressed. Dreams too. Of us.

Just for the record. I don’t expect a reply. I don’t want one.  I don’t write these for you. It’s my therapy.
Maybe I should just disappear again. Delete my account and start a fresh. I think you’d breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t blame you.
**

We won’t sink back into darkness. I don’t want that for either of us. I’ve worked so hard to be a better father, husband, human. I won’t jeopardise that and my hard fought sanity. Nor do I want to hurt you ever again.

And you’re a locked up box. I don’t have the key.

You’re not a horrible monster. You just made a decision, at a very difficult time. Decisions have consequences. My heart, soul and sanity were the consequence.
My decisions had consequences too, I acknowledge that, but there’s one difference. It’s all in my lines. I won’t rehash it.

I didn’t write those poems to hurt you. When it all got too much, that’s all I had...

The sea saved me this week. I walked past that little car park where you dropped me off that day and **** near lost the ability to breathe.

I can’t stay here any longer. I fly home today. Dad’s back on his feet for now. I asked him what he’s going to do when his frivolous bipolar spending spree runs out. He calmly replied. Suicide.

I have not-so-little humans who need my energy. He doesn’t deserve any more.

When you read my lines, beneath the pain, I still love you.
I can’t feel the warmth from your heart. Mine is cold. Your well wishes are welcome.

I miss you x

The past week has hurt like hell
Watching your father fade away before your eyes. Manic. Confused. Sedated. Nearly fucken handcuffed to a bed.
I’ve become his carer. For a while.
I’m much more numb to it than I thought I’d be. It has to escape me somehow. I’ve bottled it up. I’ll blow a fuse. I guess....

I’m just up the road from you. A few hours maybe. I don’t really know. What does it matter? I might as well be on Mars.

Nice of you to let me know you’re still alive. Albeit briefly. For what it’s worth, I appreciated that. Much more than you appreciated my poems.

You did turn your back on me.
You did know you were hurting me.

You ghosted me. I called you... day after day... after ******* day... and you left me to burn.

Call it what you will. But you cut the cord and let me float away into space. Cold. Dark. Empty.  Space.

I nearly didn’t ******* make it back.

Don’t you dare pretend what you did was ok.

I’m still seething. 5 years later. I wish you didn’t leave me this way. I’m a broken human.

All I wanted was a good bye. But no. Self preservation kicked in. And you turned and cut and ran.

Who cares about ikizim when you can only care for yourself.

Ikizim died that day. For both of us. You killed ikizim.

And yes, 5 years later I still feel the knife.

When you were lost, I showed you the light.

You could be living out in the boonies with 15 cars in the backyard.

When we met you were about to flush your life away. I gave you the courage and love to be strong. I lit the light ahead. I held your hand.

And when you found your path. You let go.

How is that ikizim?

It still hurts so much.

I know you’re not there, but I want the universe to know that I miss you. FWIW.

Simple really. You had to choose a path for yourself. I get it. Self preservation always wins. It’s what makes us human.
But know that I gave my all for you. And **** I miss you.
Let these poems and sad love stories be my heart’s final grave.
For how sad am I?
Mourning a love who has long gone...