Empty. And alone.
How long will I feel like this?
Endless days stretching grey into my future. Tomorrow seems too much, but days, months, ******* years will follow. And I can’t bear it.
Years of feeling incomplete, don’t think I want anymore.
Everyone says they know how I’m feeling, they felt just the same.
It doesn’t help.
I’m still incomplete. Surely this isn’t normal. Or if it is why am I the only one who doesn’t seem able to cope with it.
Or do we all secretly cry ourselves to sleep at night?
Feel a clawing loneliness- want to scream, want to cry but are so full up of emptiness that there’s no release?
I wish you were here. To feel you hold me, and hush me, and kiss me…
it would mean everything.
I remember sometimes I just wanted to rip away my skin and let our hearts and souls embrace, join together, instead of having them caged within our fickle chests.
And why can’t my words soar with the same beauty as the classics?
“It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.”
“He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
But they won’t come to me.
My heart mustn’t hold such beauty.
Even these words choke me, they can’t describe the
raging, black, endless, loneliness that engulf me,
just as your laughter used to embrace me.
Such moments were brief though.
Now I can barely remember the curve of your body around me,
the crinkle of eyes and flash of teeth when you smiled,
your touch.
They’re burned into me in momentary flashes, just to fade into shadows that I chase but can’t catch.
Now you, a different you, have merely made me worse. I was slowly rebuilding, calming…
And you tore me down.
Now everything seems a game, with rules I don’t understand.
Is it real, is it imagined, is it in fact me twisting everything when everyone else is sane?
No words come to me.
I’m pulled in so many directions, thoughts spinning through me
and I can’t even make some sweeping literary masterpiece out of it to make it somehow worthwhile.
I can’t make sense of any of it…