Saturday, May 13, 2017

my definitions of love lost:

Losing love is the feeling of torn skin, pulling back, back, back -- thick, jarring--even if numb at first--and guaranteed to heal into a surface that not even the cleanest tear can salvage.

It is the cool valley of a mattress that one rolls into like a landslide -- one minute, tossing and turning in sleep; the next, face down in a crevice created by the wholeness of a body. A singular inhabitant of a once sacred place.

It is one less cup of coffee poured behind a counter, in a kitchen, sipped with legs crossed over legs on a couch.

It is a heavy heart -- dead weight in one's arms, slipping with gravity, and leaking at each seam.

It is a hand left hanging in mid-air, or grasping at nothing amongst a crowd.

It is a book in place of a person at a restaurant table.

It is half a load of laundry; half the quarters, half the weight in fabric and all the weight of the world.

It is one less pair of eyes absorbing a moving picture in a dark room.

It is a car losing control on a desolate road.

It is the habitual act of looking back, the disbelief of looking forward, the eyes sealed shut within the present.

It is one breath in, and a delayed breath out.

It is a story that, at first, feels completely undone; but in retrospect is a page turned.

It is breathing on one's own. Delay and all. A hollow lung that's forgotten it's capacity to give life.

It's learning to sit in silence, and learning to sing a new song.

It is asking for help, and building new boundaries.

It is a fresh coat of paint, even if over a beautiful color.

It is a charged credit card and not enough closet space.

It is learning a new face.