There is no perfect answer, or moment. The sun is setting on this. Orange to pink to lavender to indigo to navy. Then only black. (Goodbye.) The thought of you still grinds into me at every opportunity. It incessantly nags me, haunts me. You are a shadow I cannot escape. For you, I am long gone, I am out of sight out of mind. I am a pretty thing, a doll easily put on the shelf for another convenient moment. Access as needed: I am always there.
I am remembering our first summer, ice cream cones, holding your beautiful face in my hands, tracing the outline of your tattoo with my finger first thing in the morning. I am moved by your touch and your scent. I wanted to get lost in you. But it was never enough to make you mine. Sweetheart, I don’t want to say goodbye. I have cried so many tears for you, and pushed from within myself with everything I have. Can I ever twist myself to the pretzel shape that would satisfy you, to maintain a level of muted and complacent perfection? I don’t want dramatics. You were all I wanted and I held my breath for you…but it was still never enough to make you mine.
I want someone to fill the hollows of my own loneliness. Can someone respond in the way I need? Not only hold my hand, but also my heart, so delicate, stubbornly pumping with precious blood, keep it intact, taking the best care. He will simply say, “Shh. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” Stroke my superficial worries away with a gilded touch. I’m purring in your arms again; the monster tamed.
There are little souvenirs of you everywhere. My world is filled with the trappings of our long disaster. I think of all the painful moments, when I should have said something else and just let you walk away or stay angry all night, let you do that thing and gone on doing mine. The bitterness bubbles up in me predictably. I remember sitting on a log with you at the lake, watching the first of your tears. All I want is to go back to that moment, fix everything, love you properly.
I am sending you love and light, always. I am hoping that on some level, you can feel it. I am touching you. But you don’t turn around. You ignore me. So I walk away.