let them love you this way:

with long drives to float away destinations
with the sole purpose of finding a beach
that feels right underfoot.

with car park crying
and laughing and debriefs
that echo long into the night.

with celebratory drinks
and lib feeds
and sometimes the odd fancy dinner.

with mid week check ins and soup left on door steps
messages of poems and songs that make them think of you
(i need you to know that you deserve to be thought of)

with hands soaked wet
by dishes you didn’t want to wash
and with blankets pulled up to chins.

let them love you this way.  
softly and in all the ways that count.
all they ways you haven’t been loved before.

you used to say
that a glass of wine always makes things go down easier.

so when you left,
you gave me the bottle.

i’ll always send you
the things i see that remind me of you

every poem i read
that i know you’ll love too.

every movie
that i think will sit you in the edge of your seat.

every book
that i think you will like, and that you will keep.

every song or lyric
that makes me think of you.

it will always be sent.
always be given- a gift, an offering too.

my way of saying
i love and am thinking if you always.

i can’t help that everything lovely i experience
is always infused with a little bit of you.

somedays,
i will make a cup of coffee
for my mum and i.
seek solace at the table
find comfort in each other's company.

these are the moments i need.

this is the sweet,
amongst the sour.

you will die this way.

trying to handle all of this mess,
trying to keep it all even though it is too heavy to hold.

it will seep into your soul
until it becomes too much to deal with.

it will bleed
and smear red onto the walls.

and you try to clean but
really you are just pushing it
further into the crevasses.

and you try to organise
but really you are just moving things around.
moving them into their new graves, to gather dust and to rot.

and even though you have hidden it,
it is still there,
the decay is still happening.

the mess it still
buried and decomposing
behind a curtain.

you need to cull, and burn.
throw out and throw up all of the things you are carrying.
rid yourself of the weight you hold so tightly onto.

let it go,
set it aflame,
laugh at its ashes as they settle into the fabric of the curtain.

you don’t deserve to be confined to a life
carrying it all.

it is not your job to carry the universe,
you are not atlas,
you can put it down.

i promise the world will not end.

i’m preparing for a funeral that isn’t meant to happen yet.

i dig a grave
and carve a stone.

i’m not dead yet.
but i feel like i am dying.

it will save them doing this
when i am gone.

it is easier to prepare for a funeral that hasn’t happened yet.
than one you didn’t think you’d have to prepare for at all.

why does nothing feel real,
until it happens?

am i that sceptical of good things happening,
that i convince myself they won't,
until they do?

i don't believe it will happen
till i am there
experiencing it.

and even then,
it all feels like a dream.

or something on the edge of a memory,
something i can't quite hold and live in.

like the concert i was sure i wouldn't get tickets to,
or the holiday i thought i wouldn’t get to take.
or next year.
or tomorrow.

how can i live in the moment,
when the moment doesn't even feel real?