I would have asked you to stay
But I knew you didn't want to
So I watched you go away.


                                                       ­                    *If you had asked me to stay
                                                          ­               I would have, but you didn't
                                                        ­                                     *So I left, anyway.

This is my story.
Do not assume that you
Are the hero, even though

I dedicated a lot of

Lengthy chapters to you.

You are just a
Leaf passing through,
Leaving a slight impression

On a few pages and

A pop of colour among

Some black and white words.

You are a spot of blue ink

Left in the corner, as I wrote

Quickly and passionately

On white blank pages.

You are the muse I loved

Enough to write into my story
And spend time nurturing,
Creating something beautiful
However long it may have lasted.

But do not forget,
Even for a second that

This is my story.

However incomplete or

nonsensical it may seem.
However narcissistic I may sound.
How many ever hours

I spent crafting it.

Rough

Draft

Over

Rough

Draft.
**
This is my story.

My heart shattered
into eight pieces.
They lay there on my carpet.
Each one told me
a story.

one
My eyes meet yours
on that Monday afternoon.
I smile and so do you.

two
My hands run through your
hair as you kiss me
in the warm summer rain.

three
The sky is pink as we drive
down to the shore on your
black motorbike, laughing.

four
You're wearing a blue shirt
as we get drunk on
the thought of forever.

five
My ears are ringing from
all the screaming, I slide against
the door as you walk away.

six
My skin burns where you touched
me, you pack your clothes
in an old, weathered bag.

seven
Your lips are chapped when
you kiss me for the last time,
wrapping your arms around me.

eight
A picture flashes up on my computer,
I look at it until you're nothing
but a blurry memory.

Dear J,
   I may be at a loss for words half the time, and the other half I might have too much to say, but I can almost always say this; I love you. I have felt fear and I have felt bravery and I have felt loss. I can look pictures of us and I can recall everything we did that day. I can listen to videos of you and I can tell what you felt. And I know that you didn't think I was paying attention, but I knew how you looked when you thought something was unfair. And I knew the look in your eyes when you saw the light just right in a sunset and you knew that nothing could ever be recreated quite like that. I felt the same way about you.
   Wherever you are, know that loving someone isn't a matter of feeling something or not feeling something. It's a matter of knowing what you're feeling and when you need to let go.
   I think that people know that letting go involves unfurling your fingers and watching something fall from a great height. It's the act of following that objects downward motion that gets to us. That once it meets the ground or whatever surface it is deemed to hit, it's gone. What was there is gone. And once you think about that you think of what could have been there. That one last touch, that one last feeling of bliss that comes with knowing that the moment you wake up the sun will be shining in rivulets through fingers that tangle in hair fresh off the pillow. It's sad to know that nothing like that will happen again.
   The sun won't shine the same way. Instead it may simply fall. It won't cascade, it won't flow over the edges of noses or smiling lips. It's the same way water may lose a stone from a riverbed and from there on after it doesn't run quite the same way. But another stone, another pebble will fall in place because replacement happens.
   I guess what I'm trying  to say, is that letting go is letting someone else take a spot. In order for something else to happen you have to let your joints move out of their grip and unfold from their hold on something that wasn't meant to be held by you anymore.
   Sometimes you have to let them land somewhere new.
I only hope that it's somewhere even more beautiful than before.
            Claire

12:05 am, drunk text, honest words
fingers brush the send button
message sent reads the screen,
sweaty palms, backtracking
hit delete, no use

eyes close, deep breath
message received


1:00 am, sober thoughts
angry groan, swear words
escape your lips,
waiting, hoping, praying
hit open, no use
eyes close, deep sigh
no reply

3:16 am**, point of no return
parallel realities flash by
one good, one bad
one yes, one no
call him? no use
eyes close, almost asleep
one new text