It hurts me.
I know it's real.
Somehow I feel it and I know it's real and then I don't even know why.
Why is it real?
Why can I feel It?
I wish sometimes I could just walk away and forget all about you just to avoid this confusing pain. I wish so hard, I crunch my eyes up and squish the years away fighting to let you go, because I love you.
And I don't even know why.
Then I look out the window and you know what I see? A figure out there, between the ridges of the white wood, chasing fences. Never ceasing, always moving. Where to? I don't know.
I used to think it was you because through the thickness of the fog really it could look like anyone. But now I see it. Now I understand.
I see what it really is and it's incredible.
Past the tears and pain and all this heaping hurt--I see me, alone, chasing an idea about me and you that runs along the fences like a mad beast.
Somehow I thought if I caught it and held it long and soft enough in my arms it would settle and push against my chest until it was calm and sweet and all the jagged parts of it melted away into what it really was or rather what it was always supposed to be.
I thought that I could save it and help it along its way, together, as equals.
But I don't know if that is ever meant to happen now. I don't know what to do, waist deep amidst the grief and misery of almost losing you. How can that even be? Grieving a living person? Can the dead still walk and talk and love each other, even in this life? Yes. They can. One can love a thousand sunsets and be alive without a heart beat, while one can see no hope in the glittering multitude of stars and be dead with that heavy drum thrum-thrumming within them. It's true.
I still look at you through glittering eyes and watch the clumsy, fervent way my heart falls over you, over your blue eyes, the slip and push of your glasses along your nose, your whole being begging to be loved.
I see everything.
And I still want you.
It's tragic and astounding all at once.
Kind of like life itself.
That's it.
My love for you is life itself and someday soon life is going to want me back and where our love will be I do not care to know.
They say life exists here and now and that is what mattered when it came to us. There never was a here there was always only a there. What a tragic waste.
If I could say one last thing before I leave it would be only this, "There won't always be an 'us', you know. Someday you might miss it. Maybe."
Maybe.
-k.p.
11/24/16
8:24pm
