water

for a few weeks, moments twisted into one.

I felt as if I had exited a subway tunnel, the air suddenly fresh, the light suddenly bright.

and yet, I blinked, sure that wasn’t true because I remember clearly all the moments that occurred since I picked up that phone.

pushing thoughts aside, I kept walking. This mixture-of suddenly being aware you were moving forward when you knew you’d been doing so the entire time-it brings forth a strange sense of balance and a handful of questions I dare not begin to think of answers for.

yet here I am.

On the other side of all of this, and the strange feeling has not disappeared, simply manifested into another combination of sentiments I can not fathom.

when will the leaves fall? when will the heat break? did I come from you if it all seems so unreal now? 

How can distance disjoin so much?

if I reach out, will you take my hand?

is this home now?

what are we all doing here?

why do I pretend I don’t know where I will end up when I know perfectly well what calls my name?

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ragged

as always, distance creates space.

this is a fact of the world.

one thing though, that is not a fact is this half truth:

sometimes distance creates clarity.

this is what i sought.

this is why i left.

but in the weeks that led up to this moment, me in the dark, a light shinning above, feeling as if i have emerged from being under water is the fact, the feeling that i was under water, unable to hear a single world.

what did i miss?

and so i begin to question:

did i ruin what was so many years in the making?

how much does history count for?

when does forgiveness come in?

do i have to invite it?

what do i even dare to say?

how many words were held back?

why don’t people reach across boarders?

do they see a fence where i see a broken bridge?

have i forgotten the words i am borrowing?

what will happen to all the children i have left behind?

did i make the right decision?

where will it take me?

should i have chosen the halls made of brick?

the pages of books?

is it fair to feel so much lighter when their problems are miles away?

who do i own a moment to?

do communities appear when you disappear?

were they always there?

will the heat ever fade?

what will i find when it does?

what is truth and what is light dancing on the wall?

 

 

i said distance provide clarities.

to say clarity means answers would be to lie.

and i can not seem to lie.

ignored goodbyes 

it feels now

after all this time

that sometimes endings are easy

and sometimes they are hard.

it feels now,

so differently than before.

that when they’re hard the time is wrong,

and one is leaving something behind they shouldn’t. 

and when they’re easy, you’re meant to go, 

despite the small bursts of pain.

or maybe

maybe

I’ve just grown up

and where pain once was now stands reason.

or maybe

I’ve forgotten how to put down roots

so pulling up doesn’t ache.

perhaps though, all the words are wrong.

and the truth belongs to the words scribbled in thick black ink:

 when my bones became water two summers ago, I left pieces of my soul on the ground when I stood back up.

that’s why it doesn’t hurt,

where pain once claimed home. 

but

but

but-

who really knows?

bliss

broken free, they floated away.

i threw my hands in the air and my head back and tried to catch the colors as they fell.

each time, i thought they would blow right to me,

drown me in their glory.

the music beat inside my ears,

anchoring me.

but each time, i was wrong.

the wind blew them away and i can’t fight the air,

but still,

balanced on that platform

so blissfully floating

it didn’t matter.

because nothing hurt.

that is what i seek.

 

empty shelves

i was lying to myself

by no fault but my own.

we all do it,

so does that make it wrong?

lying about what? 

you beg to know.

about the fact that this doesn’t hurt.

it does.

but i swallow and hold back anyway

because then i can tell myself it doesn’t.

this lie, it seems to be the only way to move forward.

smash

i feel like a child,

holding a vase in my hand.

i want to drop it.

i would grin as it shattered.

but here’s the truth of the world,

one even children know:

you can not break things that do not exist.

and that my love, leaves me feeling nothing but the pain of emptiness

when it comes to what was between us.

two by one

wet towels

green grass

music 

tears, big and fat, blocking my vision

eyes cast down

so down one falls.

just one-if I let more out, I fear this broken soul will shatter.

here is my question: how do they do it?

if all the souls that are older than mine have felt half the pain I have-how do they still stand?

but yet I know: because amongst the pain there is often some sort of peace, a peace that comes with shedding what was

to become

something else

something new.