Bittersweet Cycle
Everytime you leave, I am left a little bit broken. A little bit shattered. A little bit messed up. Just a little bit. Nothing I cannot handle. But still.
I know I’ll be missing you every day until my mind finally grasps the fact that it has to let go of that part of me that still holds on to you and all the other things unsaid.
Its beautiful, really. The Silence.
Fighting wars in my mind that only I can hear.
Sometimes I wish I could pry the words out of your tongue like those multi-colored pieces of cloth that magicians spit out of their mouths.
Tie them around my head so tight it would bleed.
My heart swells at the sight of you—with care? With respect? With love? With fear? With every little bit of everything that has always remained unsaid.
Your scent explodes in my chest like the 4th of July, and how I’d like to hold on to a little bit of it too. Just a little bit.
When we sleep, I can feel my soul reaching out to you and holding you every night as if tomorrow would never come. There we were, two bodies lying beside each other with a big space boring in between while our souls intertwined and went to the place that our cowardly carnal bodies never dared go to.
Because we THINK that we’re smarter than that.
Oh the wars we fight in our heads. We fight. We fight. And we fight a little bit more. Only to end up feeling defeated, almost all the time. And so we sleep, and wake up and go through the motions.
Our physical bodies moving while somewhere out there our souls celebrate their freedom from the wars we fight in our heads.
And so you leave. And here we are again. A little bit broken. A little bit shattered. A little bit messed up. We put time and space between us and forget. And move on. Again and again.
And again.
