When we ache for the loss of someone, it means that our heart yearns for them and that we feel lonely without them. Have you ever felt like this?
We miss each other. And in this silent longing, we dissipate like the dew that settles in the woods, evaporating just before the light, revealing only ‘his dwarf’ to the explorer, striving to see his arrival before he vanishes again.
Like precious roses, armed with the thorns of our defense, we compel others to look upon our beauty, available only to the few who defy the painful prick of our trunk and live out the remainder of our days packed in order. Oh, how beautiful and painful we are.
The pain of losing someone you love
No, not the times you didn’t come for me. Not your thoughtless words that cleaved my soul, leaving me bleeding open for a word of affirmation to hold on to that which never followed. Not the dozens of mixed messages showering me with confusion and deluding me into the delusion that you were ever bound to be “us”. No, I don’t miss it.
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I miss the meaning you gave everything. The dream of the future clock was annihilated long before even a single second arrived, turning what could have been an eternity of unfulfillment and purging the heart of debris.
Yet, in my longing to appear and keep, I still miss you.
Like bread crumbs from a banquet table, I survived on the morsel that fell from my few times of contact and now seeing that my dilemma was always caused, always trusted you with the mighty and majestic instrument of my heart.
Others reach for me, but they are not you. Others want for me, yet still want you to be raised off your radar as if you were switching between TV channels, to the next show for your entertainment.
I miss…me.
The problem is not you. This state of heart, mind, and soul is brought about by the depth of my feelings, the vastness of my being wrong with your heart of stone, but not broken by the wonder of life where the vulnerability of being known unites with another, just as scared as I was.
Now… she misses me. But no longer.
This time I see myself whole, collecting the pieces of a broken heart, raking them from the earthen floor of your neglect and piecing them together into a mosaic that shimmers in the moonlight of dreams and dances in the sunlight of what could be, what could be mine.
It’s too late. The metaphorical waters of desires flow quickly from the bridges of yesterday and we want no more gentle touches that never came, passionate kisses withheld, or proud knowledge of all we’ve ever been together.
Like precious silver, the pain of self-care has taught me, to shine and store myself properly in drawers designed for longevity.
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Now, I no longer miss.
Whatever your thoughts are like a passing cloud on a spring day. Filled with the surprise of a shower, the cloud of memories will darken for a moment and give me gratitude for the rain covering me with a freshness that allows me to blossom again.
I am free again, free to choose my beauty, never needing another person to realize what I haven’t done. Your scent has faded into the background of a distant memory, and the stillness of safety is no longer threatened by what you were not.
I was here for a moment, and for a while, like a gentle rose pedal, it fell gracefully to embody itself into what it would someday be again.
I will cherish the days I planted you in the freedom of the wilderness and curse myself for the day I put you within the confines of a pot.
