My Beloved Friend

I am learning not to chase anymore. I am holding myself firm. I will allow myself to feel the longingness for you; hearing your laugh, seeing your smile from across the room. Hardly ever in my direction. I will want to go to you, to see those eyes and to feel your warmth. But I will not. I cannot. Not anymore. 

I am tired of crying from my soul to songs that speak of you. Words that I can't say will tie my tongue in knots and burn my eyes. 

So I will lock my jaw and look away. Your riveting voice will continue to pull me, to dig out the yearning from my core. But I cannot. Not anymore. 

Your light is vibrant and I am the unfortunate moth drawn to it. I question myself almost every day on why. Why must it be so chaotic? Why must it hurt more than soothe? Why can I not accept what is and not itch for something more? Something that will never be. Not anymore. 

May 3rd, 1966

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die."

untitled 10

Kisses dried and our hands clenched back to hug our own bodies, departure felt like the arms of death. 

touch

 “i didn’t know what it was to want, to crave something so badly you feel your soul ripping your insides, trying to reach out for it. i didn’t know what it was to want something so desperately your heart ached at the absence of it. that night, i craved your touch as if you were in another universe, far away from me. i craved your touch so much i repeated in my head, like a spell, like a mantra, ‘touch me’. 'touch me’. 'touch me’. please please please i am begging you, put your hand on my heart, your lips on my neck, your eyes on my soul. touch me, god fucking damn it.”

saccharine

"i have always tasted
saccharine promise in
autumn's return, for
the crumpled leaves
cascading from branch
through apricot sun
taught me that
we too can shed
all things outgrown
and still be
born again."