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Jun 2018
in the darkness, i wish i could be somewhere else.
for now, however, i put the pen down as the music begins. i lay here. gone
the weight of the night falls on my shoulders, and i
curl up, and embrace myself, as if i am holding myself together
afraid i might get up and go away
and suddenly i am standing

lost in a symphony of nostalgia about that final line, a standing
i am not pleased with. but, what else?
at night, my doubt whisks me away
and i am gone
into the air; rhythmically, i think of when we were together
you and i

and now, just i.
standing
with my arms to my sides and my hands clasped together
knowing that you are with someone new. someone else
where have i gone?
i tuck myself in bed, resting with every reason why you went away.

and i wish i could be away,
too. it’s somewhere i
wish we could’ve gone
together. we dreamt of standing
still at the hearts of forests, of deserts, of everywhere else
(together

(was my favorite place to be, but i don’t know what that means anymore: together.)
it trembles off my tongue, my mouth desperately sending it away
to haunt someone else
so it does, it departs. yet i can feel the weight of the loss, and i
am no longer standing.
i lay back down. i put the pen down, not knowing that i picked it up. i am gone

gone, but never forgotten; forgotten, but never gone
what breaks me is the distance that keeps us from being together
and, then, a melodic voice (my own): “why are you standing?”
is it because your breath has been taken away?
i
have nothing but these words. I KNOW NOTHING ELSE

LIKE POETRY KNEW ME. now gone, the darkness won’t stay away.
we are frozen in time, together, and i
am standing. again. i go somewhere else.
Anna Marie Ciacciarella
Written by
Anna Marie Ciacciarella  19/F/Connecticut, USA
(19/F/Connecticut, USA)   
148
   lauren
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