I lost myself and I found myself.
I lost myself and I rebuilt myself.
And when I did not like what I had made, I rebuilt myself again.
I carved out, and uncovered, and restored, and outgrew.
And I, and I, and I.

And I still don’t have it perfect.
I’m still not who’d I’d like to be.
And my shadow still comes out more often than I’d like her to.

But I, and I, and I will continue to try.

You said to plant roots,
But instead I grew wings.
You called me a wild, untamable thing.

We crossed line after line,
Before you threw up a hand.
Betrayal hurts like a punch right after it lands.

You grew thorns on your edges,
Let fear consume like a flood.
I’m not surprised that you finally drew blood.

I won’t plant any roots,
Can’t stay on the ground.
Now that we’re lost, I finally feel found.

You kissed my lips,
As the sea kissed my toes,
I could drown in you both.

I sat on a Large Rock
While you hunted Little Rocks
The sea lapping at both of our feet
At different elevations
In different places
Connected by the sea
Our invisible string

It is the cruelest twist of fate to be made sick by the things I hold most dear.

The sea.
Love.
Home.

The way your eyes change colors with the sky
The way you bring me flowers on random Tuesdays, because you were thinking of me
The way you worship my body, soft, where I wish it was hard
And the way you open my heart, hard, where I wish it was soft
The way you whisper my name when we’re connected down to our very souls
The way that you are a complete person
And the way I am a complete person
And the way that together we are two complete persons who continue to choose each other over and over again
And the way we are better for it
I never want to forget the way it feels to be loved by you

If grief were a tangible thing, I would wrestle it from your arms.

If grief were a tangible thing, I would store it in a bottle and throw it out to sea with a note that says, “please don’t open me.”

If grief were a tangible thing, I would place a bookmark before your least favorite chapter, and let us come back to it another day.

If grief were a tangible thing, or a wound, easily seen to the human eye, I would be able to stitch you back together with something other than the words, “I’m so sorry.”

If grief were a tangible thing, I would wipe it from your eyes, like the tears that fall.

If grief were a tangible thing, I would be the first to hold your heart while we tie it up neatly with bandages.

If grief were a tangible thing, if grief were a tangible thing. If.