I thought about you again,
but not in the way I used to.
Not in the place I used to.
Soapy water running down my legs,
but it’s not enough.
Hot water gashing rouge stains into my skin.
It’s not enough.
Will I ever be clean?
It is in this period that I become a tender-hearted soul who feels
too much.
Too many things remind me of the silence.
. . .
This silence that I feel is temporary but why does it come to haunt me now?
Always now.
It’s so solemn like a thunderstorm.
It’s so rich like the sun.
But the sun hurts my eyes when I look at it for too long.
I get struck by lightning when I’m in a storm for too long.
The overbearing silence that is loud in its own unique way.
The silence that makes me feel like a singular sunflower in a valley full of nothingness.
But in this valley, a butterfly comes along.
A thought that leads to more thoughts.
My mind, constantly plagued by you,
by your presence
by your lack of presence
by your scrupulous yet reckless actions.
You paint pictures that you say aren’t misconstrued but all I see is blobs and splotches.
You say they have meaning and I believe that they could but you leave them on your easel.
You leave them hanging lopsided on your wall.
I leave my paintings hung evenly spaced,
level
But does that matter?
Or am I feeling “too much”?
I feel your deception but you’re not even here.
I feel and see you everywhere but when I turn or blink I find out that what I was staring at was just a piece of furniture.
I want you out of my life but you already are.
What can I do to get rid of you once and for all?
And when I do, will I still feel this lonesomeness or will I finally be able to shake off that feeling?
The silence.
The urge to be clean.
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 4:01 PM UTC
I thought about you again,
but not in the way I used to.
Not in the place I used to.
Soapy water running down my legs,
but it’s not enough.
Hot water gashing rouge stains into my skin.
It’s not enough.
Will I ever be clean?
It is in this period that I become a tender-hearted soul who feels
too much.
Too many things remind me of the silence.
. . .
This silence that I feel is temporary but why does it come to haunt me now?
Always now.
It’s so solemn like a thunderstorm.
It’s so rich like the sun.
But the sun hurts my eyes when I look at it for too long.
I get struck by lightning when I’m in a storm for too long.
The overbearing silence that is loud in its own unique way.
The silence that makes me feel like a singular sunflower in a valley full of nothingness.
But in this valley, a butterfly comes along.
A thought that leads to more thoughts.
My mind, constantly plagued by you,
by your presence
by your lack of presence
by your scrupulous yet reckless actions.
You paint pictures that you say aren’t misconstrued but all I see is blobs and splotches.
You say they have meaning and I believe that they could but you leave them on your easel.
You leave them hanging lopsided on your wall.
I leave my paintings hung evenly spaced,
level
But does that matter?
Or am I feeling “too much”?
I feel your deception but you’re not even here.
I feel and see you everywhere but when I turn or blink I find out that what I was staring at was just a piece of furniture.
I want you out of my life but you already are.
What can I do to get rid of you once and for all?
And when I do, will I still feel this lonesomeness or will I finally be able to shake off that feeling?
The silence.
The urge to be clean.