Nights long past when I lay there in his arms, my soul felt complete and whole. And then he went away and I lay here alone, my heart having gone with him, I am but incomplete. Lacking.
Tears soak my cheeks. My pillow. I cover my face. Shame fills me for letting him in. For allowing him to take a piece of me with him. For allowing him in.
He wove his magic around my soul, bound his spirit to mine. And where he walks, I go with him. Even though I no longer matter. Even though life was bigger than Us. I’m tired of crying.
I miss him. I ache for him. It was his smile. His touches. His fingers interwoven with mine. The stroking of my cheek as I slept. The passion in the middle of the night. It was him invading my space. Following me through the house as I worked through mundane chores. Waking me up to push his body against mine. Sitting at the beach smoking weed and talking about stupid shit that doesn’t mean anything. Drinking tea that had way too much honey in it.
It was him pulling me closer just to stare into my eyes. Calling me over to make out on the couch. Talking about Don Quixote and time and space and the universe. Making love over the phone. And now. Now I have my memories. My tears.
Oh god. What have I done? What will I do? How can I keep going like this? The scar is deep. It is wide. How can there be any hope for me? I am alone. Abandoned to my thoughts. I can’t even spare hope for another. I am broken beyond repair.
Sometimes a glimmer of new hope rises within me before reality sets in. Am I doomed to walk through this life with empty hands and hollow eyes? In this moment, I believe it so.
Once more I find myself staring out at the moon. Following her path across the starlit sky with my dim glittering eyes. It’s just me and her. Her pale light wraps around me, just like my own arms. I feel the ghost of his arms, too.
Shivering, I look away, down at my feet and the shameful tears continue to tumble down. Soaking my skin, my chest. I feel one drop on my foot. It shakes me to my core.
How many tears have I given to him? How many more will I in the days and weeks to come? I wonder if I ever cross his mind. Or is he consumed with practical thoughts where love can’t intrude?
I try to reach across space, to feel for him. I receive nothing in return. I lay back down in my now-cold bed. My hand on the pillow next to me. I can almost smell him. His cologne is slowly fading and I worry when it will happen to his memory.
I close my eyes and the tears continue to rise and fall. The ache in my chest remains. I long for sleep and yet it eludes me. Rolling on to my side and curling my legs toward my belly, I sigh. What am I doing? How can I keep myself going? I wipe the tears from my cheeks, although I don’t really know why I do it, and I pray for sleep to take me away, even for a little while.
tara caribou | ©2019
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a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind
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