she misses him.
the silent gestures and knowing looks, the sweet nothings where everything stood.
he lives on in every moment; every laughter and every tear still holds a part of him, because he still holds a part of her.
never a love so innocent, so pure, so naive, so strong. so confused, so broken, so tragic, so gone.
every happily ever after reminds her of him; every wretched dissolution reminds her of them.
she misses him.
there is a suitcase of remnants buried in the deepest closet of her house and of her soul, memories of a distant love once known, once held, once believed in. she will carry that baggage for the rest of her days. never unpacked, never sorted into neat stacks, never discarded. forever marked as "fragile".
change begets change, and as layers of life and loss peel away, new remnants appear. to be held, to be loved, to be grieved. to be let go into the great ocean of yesterday.
i can't build a sand castle without thinking of you. i can't hear jonny m without thinking of you. i can't slice apples for autumn pies or watch sailboats chase the wind or paint a room red without wondering what you will think about it. but then i remember that you're not here anymore. and i miss you.
i remember so clearly the last conversation we had. i see your face and hear the chugging grind of your car's engine, interrupting the words we exchanged. you said that the finer pieces just needed a little oil so the whole machine could run smoothly. what a metaphor for life. i wish i had known the weight of our words. i wish i could take some back and exchange others instead. i wish i had know it would be the last time i would see your face.
i dream about the ocean and i see you riding on the thrill of the tide as it spits you out onto the shore. i dream about the lake and i see you wrestling the wind and wrenching the sails and defeatedly swimming that boat home. i dream about that creek and afternoon adventures chasing salamanders and craw dads as the cold, mountain water would wash over our toes and carry our troubles downstream.
everything has changed now. i go back to the ocean every year, but i can't find you in the ebb or flow, the sand or surf. i wrestled the world and swam the sailboat back home, but you had already gone away. i have searched beneath the river rocks in every creek and still you elude me. i am alone, and i am missing you.
i know that you are gone now and that there is no way to go back to what once existed, but i don't know how to fill the spaces where you once lived. some days, the emptiness overtakes me. i don't mistake that missing is the same as loving. i can read our story over and over and cherish every magical moment and sacred exchange, but when i set the book down, i remember that none of those characters exist anymore. the story always ends the same, because it always ends.
so i write new poems and play new songs. we paint red walls into our corner of the world, and i tuck the most beautiful words into the satchels buried within my soul's deepest closet.
she misses him. she dreams of yesterday and weeps for the tomorrows lost. the ocean drowns out her tears and the wind swallows her cries, and she wonders if someday the creek will carry the last of him away, downstream.
yet, buried deep within his own shadows is another dusty suitcase. and hiding somewhere among the trinkets and trophies, the seashells and the river rocks... he will always hold a part of her.
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about the writer.
“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap” (George Bernard Shaw)