When he left me
his soul was gone for me
and his body was still there.
His anger was new
his distance was new
and his lack of touch too
I was so confused.
I was pregnant, then a mum.
Untouched, the silence dumb.
Bereaved, intense loss
Husband won't touch me
there's only frost.
How do I even speak of this?
he's doing the chores
but there's such an abyss.
Two years more
and I realise
depression brought
this demise.
Fool, it took me too long
to understand what was wrong
but this knowledge never did
bring back his song.
He remained, gone.

I ask myself
Are you the one?
If you are the one,
then let us end this madness.
Let us be together.
My problem is,
I’m not certainly sure.
What if the ‘madness’ ends and creates
more.
Oh the storm that could be unleashed.
I miss you.
I don’t know that you would be able to live up to
What I need you to be
but perhaps you’d forge your own path.
Would having love, touch, talking
sustain us?
There are waves of longing, needing
Forced space eases these feelings
eventually.
But is it worth it?
Are the feelings real?
I think they are
I just don’t know
if they’re trustworthy
Or if my ability to walk away
without looking back
is something I should remember
and hang onto,
to avoid you
putting your eggs here
and for them to then be broken.

My psychologist says
'He's narcissistic'
His mother says
'He can't show his inner self'
I say
'He couldn't love me'
My heart says
'I love the other one'.

There are still surges of grief
when I hear of you
being somewhere that I’m not.
There are still spurts of rawness
when I think of you
doing things where I’m not.
The emotion rises suddenly
like fizzing, bubbling waves
cresting on sand
then abating
but
ready to come again.
It makes me breathless,
takes me by surprise -
the speedy upswell of feeling
from a deep well
that does not yet seem emptied.
Trying to keep my face calm
expressionless
as the emotion surges within.
An observer could note a twitch,
a saddening of the eyes
as my thoughts turn inwards
and remember that we’re not.