Dec 2014
Stay.
I begged. I've never been too good at begging, but I fell onto my knees as though the floor was the only one listening and I shouted. Stay. The vibrations of your feet walking across the room to the door I always kept unlocked for anyone who wanted to step into this empty space, where memories of us hang on walls as though they're clutching to not hit rock bottom as I have. You always told me that I was enough, that I was the chain holding you onto me. That I was the abandoned swing set in the backyard that you never wanted to leave, but that was too damaged for you to love anymore. So you stare, as if nobody's there to get your eyes away. Maybe at the end of the day the arms of gravity loosened their pull and let you go but let me tell you, that was the day I realized there's nothing good in "goodbye" and there's nothing more that makes me cry than your back turned away from me; that's if we're not counting the promise of no return. Ever since that day the mirror reflects a melting puddle of "wait for me, you're going too fast", it was a cry from the past of everyone who's stepped out and never acknowledged what they were leaving behind. The problem with goodbye is it's as real as the promise to love till goodbye isn't an option. It's the promise to drip morphine into your veins so the doctors don't have to tell me its time to let go, we're in this together. Till the last breath isn't the breath of you or me; but of us. Because what's it worth to live a forever without the person who gave you hope on forever in the first place? And what's the point in walking away on somebody who's still got your finger prints on the sides of their face? There are always stories that will go untold, but for now I'm re reading the the volumes of your chiseled frame and protruding lips like they were abandoned in the attic. They sat with first kisses and locked fingers for so long they need to be dusted off by the same hands years later. Yours are alive, and cut and rough. Mine are tired, and fragile and soft. To this day, they still fit perfectly into each other. I don't know why I wore out so early, why I no longer found the will in me to do the things we did as young lovers. I don't know why I'd spend my evenings on dusty couches while you'd beg me to come out with you and watch the sun like we did. I don't know why I stopped trying, I couldn't stop the constant crying caused by a fear of time running out. I don't know why I ever feared time in the first place. It always went so fast when I was with you but as long as I was with you everything was okay. Everything was rolling like the days the tide was pulled higher by the tugging moon. Our picnics on the sand always ended too soon but that was never a problem because we could run home in drenched clothes, have the fun of tearing them off each other and collapse naked into the warmth of clean sheets. All these memories I keep reminiscing. All the younger days I keep missing, the clocks keep ticking and I have lost the one I want to waste away the minutes with. I guess as an abandoned swing set its hard to say goodbye to the growing child. And as the melting puddle in the mirror its hard to look as yourself and smile. But nothings as hard as being the only lover in the hospital bed with none of your morphine in my veins, and no hands to hold onto. No final breath for both of us. Only the realization that the only good in this goodbye, is that I won't leave me with memories of us. It'll leave you with the memory of me, clutching onto the walls so they don't hit rock bottom as I have.
I begged. I've never been too good at begging, but I fell onto my knees as though the floor was the only one listening and I shouted. Stay. The vibrations of your feet walking across the room to the door I always kept unlocked for anyone who wanted to step into this empty space, where memories of us hang on walls as though they're clutching to not hit rock bottom as I have. You always told me that I was enough, that I was the chain holding you onto me. That I was the abandoned swing set in the backyard that you never wanted to leave, but that was too damaged for you to love anymore. So you stare, as if nobody's there to get your eyes away. Maybe at the end of the day the arms of gravity loosened their pull and let you go but let me tell you, that was the day I realized there's nothing good in "goodbye" and there's nothing more that makes me cry than your back turned away from me; that's if we're not counting the promise of no return. Ever since that day the mirror reflects a melting puddle of "wait for me, you're going too fast", it was a cry from the past of everyone who's stepped out and never acknowledged what they were leaving behind. The problem with goodbye is it's as real as the promise to love till goodbye isn't an option. It's the promise to drip morphine into your veins so the doctors don't have to tell me its time to let go, we're in this together. Till the last breath isn't the breath of you or me; but of us. Because what's it worth to live a forever without the person who gave you hope on forever in the first place? And what's the point in walking away on somebody who's still got your finger prints on the sides of their face? There are always stories that will go untold, but for now I'm re reading the the volumes of your chiseled frame and protruding lips like they were abandoned in the attic. They sat with first kisses and locked fingers for so long they need to be dusted off by the same hands years later. Yours are alive, and cut and rough. Mine are tired, and fragile and soft. To this day, they still fit perfectly into each other. I don't know why I wore out so early, why I no longer found the will in me to do the things we did as young lovers. I don't know why I'd spend my evenings on dusty couches while you'd beg me to come out with you and watch the sun like we did. I don't know why I stopped trying, I couldn't stop the constant crying caused by a fear of time running out. I don't know why I ever feared time in the first place. It always went so fast when I was with you but as long as I was with you everything was okay. Everything was rolling like the days the tide was pulled higher by the tugging moon. Our picnics on the sand always ended too soon but that was never a problem because we could run home in drenched clothes, have the fun of tearing them off each other and collapse naked into the warmth of clean sheets. All these memories I keep reminiscing. All the younger days I keep missing, the clocks keep ticking and I have lost the one I want to waste away the minutes with. I guess as an abandoned swing set its hard to say goodbye to the growing child. And as the melting puddle in the mirror its hard to look as yourself and smile. But nothings as hard as being the only lover in the hospital bed with none of your morphine in my veins, and no hands to hold onto. No final breath for both of us. Only the realization that the only good in this goodbye, is that I won't leave me with memories of us. It'll leave you with the memory of me, clutching onto the walls so they don't hit rock bottom as I have.
