I have an ex from my same town, who I’m sure still walks these streets, but I’ve never run into him. I haven’t talked to him since. I rarely think of him, honestly.
I had an old friend, whose thoughts danced in the same pastures as mine, but he lived a few or some 285 miles away. Somehow we cross paths more often — and not because we’re taking trips down memory lane.
I tried to cut him clean out of my life, but damn is a mind that frolics the same fields hard to run from. How do you escape the very voice the narrates your thoughts?
It took me years to get to this place, I had to take it day by day. I remember at one point struggling just to go an hour without checking to see if he reached out, I fought to keep busy. Eventually, I stopped responding altogether, stopped answering his calls, and as the curiosity lessened, I muted his contact. Some people call this ghosting, the art of a coward — maybe that’s what I am, but that’s what you have to be when you let a demon find refuge in your thoughts.
Before I started dating the guy from my town, we’d bump into each other simply buying milk, walking through parking lots, going to fast-food chains… After I dumped him, he must have stopped frequenting these locations, maybe we’ve been lucky, but I feel as though he was protecting himself from awkward run-ins and heartache.
Time passes, wounds heal, the sound of a name burns less and less each day.
Once I knew I was strong enough, I unmuted the old friend’s number. It could never bring back the thoughts he undoubtedly sent into the void, but it didn’t open up the flood gates, either. We occasionally still cross paths, despite the bounds of time and space. He’s not always in my head anymore, but when your brains think as one, it’s easy to pick up each other’s frequencies and broadcast the interference.
On the rare occasions he shares a thought, it’s often precedented as I stumble upon a memory of him, and I can’t help but wonder if he lives the same coincidences surrounding my communications.
I used to run on anger.
I let it fuel me, consume me,
I filled pages with poetry,
hating myself and the world.
Sure I was sad – I still am,
but it can take time and anger
to accept a shitty hand of cards,
especially when said hand
keeps hitting you upside the head.
and though I wish I could exist
beyond the confines of a body
I know that this body, and all its problems,
made me who I am.
I’m fighting through this pain
but I’m not mad anymore.
I’m content with who I am
and I’m learning to see the light.
I don’t want you to fix it,
I want you to
Maybe it’s something in the air
Or the darkness of your eyes
But it’s twisting all my feelings
And this love seems full of lies.
I don’t know who I am.
Have I ever been alone?
I plant saplings in my garden
But the weeds are overgrown.
I’m scratching off my skin
And ripping out my hair
But so is everyone I know
It’s something in the air.
That’s what we do when we’re broken, right? We break down, break up, break out – take a break. Take whatever isn’t working and tear it down… sometimes you fuck it all up. I got stuck in a loop. Pain causing pain causing pain. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t read, I couldn’t write. I wish this was a shitty hyperbole.
I always learned to take my medicine, that it would fix me, but that only works in a perfect system. Pain causes pain causes pain. You need nurses who give a fuck and doctors who treat you right and someone to change the doses when they keep you up all night.
Life sucks when half of your medicine is a lifestyle. You have to move through the pain, you have to exercise. But you worked all day and you’re sore and that bed looks mighty comfy maybe just sleep it off and get up early to work out but pretty soon you’re rolling out of bed for a 4pm shift and your joints are stiff and your eyes are shaking and your morning meds have shifted to the afternoon and pain keeps shooting down your spine but you. did. this. to. yourself.
I took a break to heal but I’m still broken.
That’s just something I’ve got to accept.
With racing hearts and dimming lights,
our bodies find the floor like corpses
and we are led to meditation.
A voice tells me to think of a safe place,
something that’s mine
and I instantly feel a warmness in my chest.
She tells us to close our eyes,
slow our breathing,
and find it.
“Remember how it feels,” she guides,
and there’s softly brushing my cheek,
“what it looks like,” she continues,
green eyes flash across the backs of my eyelids,
his voice blankets me again, soft and warm,
his shampoo is still in my hair
I remember the mint of his toothpaste from any other.
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” she whispers,
“just as long as you feel safe there, happy,”
and I certainly do –
the only home I know is in your arms.
I could almost drift off to sleep
from the peace I’ve found
recalling forehead kisses and sleepy afternoons.
I’ve never breathed so lightly, so easily,
I’m so in love with you.
how am i to sleep
without you in my arms?
I’ll be there to squeeze your hand when it hurts most.
It’s 11:11, make a wish,” I whispered, lost in the ticking of the clock.
“I’ve got mine,” he replied instantly and I was too curious to keep myself from asking what wish provoked such a quick response. “Can I tell you?” he questioned, wondering if sharing a wish truly keeps it from coming true.
“I don’t know, write it down and tell me in a month,” I offered.
“How about in 20 years?” he asked with a contagious smile.
“That works, too.
We find love in empty gas tanks
when the price is on the rise
I’ll drive and stay past dark
no matter how unwise
You visit me in coffee shops,
Our paychecks waste away.
Your backseat is a blanket fort
I want to hold you every day.