he lingers behind dates written in black ink
behind the words “this time last year”
he lingers in deep belly laughs and in the artwork
that hangs on the wall
he lingers in slurping fingertips
and wine spills on the coffee table
he lingers in lazy Sundays of booze and cartoons
he lingers in everything he left behind
when no more love remained
in his heart
for me.
The first morning we spent together,
he was playing guitar
as we sat in bed surrounded by snow.
The first date,
when I wore my “eat pussy not animals” t-shirt
to cut right through the bullshit
and when I stole crayons on may way back
to the table after a visit to the restroom.
The third date, when I had butterflies
in my stomach
and when it took me over an hour
to pick out the perfect outfit.
That first kiss. When I sat beside him in bed,
book in hands, naked under my bathrobe,
still so innocent as to his intentions.
I wanted to be warm and comfortable. And he always made me feel it was safe for me to be that way.
Then there was the time when he helped me move in,
and we christened the place with what else but tequila.
Our first fight.
When I was still so afraid to have him see me break.
When I opened the door to the end and then shut it almost immediately.
The night when we did drugs and became
a couple, officially.
I guess maybe that one should’ve been a sign.
There was this one night, one of the first we spent
together in my new apartment,
when we drank too much
and were up way too early the next day
and we laid down and meditated and then
took in a sunrise afterwards.
I could hear the humming of the refrigerator
and feel the warmth of his hands enveloping mine
and honestly I would’ve died happy if I had gone at that time.
That day felt like all of love
was giving just me
a hug.
The first time I saw him cry.
You have to be comfortable with tears
to date someone like me.
The day we drank our way through all of Denver
and got kicked out of a restaurant
for being “inappropriate.”
The first moment we both discovered
we were just two big kids
in adult bodies.
I can’t remember exactly when that happened.
Maybe it was something our souls recognized in each other.
That first month
when we were completely sober
and I fell in love with him
for exactly who he was.
There were never any masks,
I loved our love partly because of that.
Because I could say crazy things
and be outrageous
and he would always meet me halfway.
Throughout our time together
he really learned who I was
and loved me just the same-
perhaps that really is worth
all the heartache
of the end.
lucky year no. 3
his memory no longer stings
like it once used to
the pain
surface level now
the loss no longer
debilitating
perhaps that’s the most beautiful thing about love-
how it always finds a place
to nestle itself into
and turns dark spaces
into halos.
He was enough
just the way he was
the day he helped me plant my first sunflower
and as if speaking to the child inside me
he told me to not be scared for the worms
as I dug my shovel into the clumps of soil,
putting all their lives in peril.
And I remember smiling at the fact that
we could yell at each other
and then spend the rest of the day’s light
playing in the dirt
together.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”
I finally understand that saying now, how life can break you just to remake you- stronger, wiser, aware of the beauty in my own breath and the importance of love.
And still.
The last 365 days without you to share my accomplishments and failures with have been the hardest. I have no regrets of things left unsaid like so many others because my words always belonged to you. And the ones I kept locked away you read in my eyes. But what do I do with my words now?
I wish you were still here so I could tell you how much you changed my life, how your love gave me strength, how I finally learned to see myself with your eyes. But the only thing left to do now is remember, celebrate the years of life you had by drinking your favorite IPA. And it all still doesn’t make any sense. You were once a lover but forever my best friend. You challenged me to be better but loved me at my worst, and among all of the things I still don’t understand are your unwavering faith in me and neverending love. You were my soulmate and I was yours, no matter what, we decided. You made me angry, you disappointed me at times, and you were awful with directions and going to bed instead of falling asleep on the couch. And yet. The mornings when you brought me coffee in bed and danced with me on top of your feet in the kitchen and hid from the world underneath piles of blankets in our own grown-up fort and held me close to your heart the first time I let you see me cry and told me it would all be alright… THAT’S what I remember when I think of you now.
I remember you and I remember love.
But I still hate the fact that all I can do is remember. All I can do now is sit here, drinking your favorite beer and writing honest words you’ll never read.
365 days later and I still feel everything.
Remember the record player? the record player you bought two years after I had been telling you how much I wanted one. The same one you purchased two months after our love broke. Perhaps so you could still keep a piece of me, there against the window, soaking up the stream of sunlight that used to dance across your wooden floors and my lap; perhaps just as bait to bring me back. Remember how you bought it broken, just to have it fixed? And how, even after months of playing Ryan Adams, I couldn’t figure out for the life of me just how to turn it on. So I would plea for help- sweets! my voice echoed along the corridors of your apartment. You always listened. So I learned to sing to you: And you and I were dancing in the dirty rain, my voice would carry over the words, and in the kitchen, with my feet placed on top of yours and my arms around your neck, that day we danced the first dance we’d never get to have.
There are good days and bad days
but the last two
have been the latter
tea and words and tears
for breakfast
and a flood of memories my mind
hasn’t remembered in a while
I want to be able to say more
than just I miss him
when they sit beside me
concern flooding their eyes when they notice
my tear-stained face
but I have no words
to explain the insufferable longing
here in my heart
except for
Saudade
the tongue of my motherland
suddenly
comfort seems so distant
a dream my mind must have made up
to get me through today
and then tomorrow
and the day after that
because when life breaks you this way
it’s either live one day at a time
or die.
The in-betweens we create disappear
you learn there’s only yes and no
I will and I won’t
I want you or I don’t
good days and bad
but the last two have been the latter
definitely.
Maybes no longer exist in my world.
here you are again,
welcome
take a seat and tell me-
what is it that you want me to remember today?
the time we hiked three hours through a costa rican jungle
or the last time I kissed his lips?
You almost make me feel them again
purple and cold
my tears run free as you sit
quietly
telling me all the stories I’ve tried to forget.
Some days
I still wish I could
see myself through your eyes,
even if just once more
It’s not enough
to know that once upon a time
you loved me
as much as you would ever love
anyone
and the photographs that once spoke a thousand words
hide away quietly in boxes
waiting for the day
when the memory of your face
won’t make me
crumble inside.
It’s weird how memories fade.
Where do they go when they leave?
Up above beyond the clouds? Or do they just hang down below instead?
Underneath the dirt of our dirty soles,
our tired souls…
Who can no longer remember the curve of smiles, the scents left behind in the imaginary trail our bodies made?
To where exactly do our memories fade? And who can say how fast?
Why are some ghosts of our pasts still here, and the others long gone,
Far enough away from our minds that we no longer know who’s alive and who’s really dead. No, not anymore. Not these days.
Where do memories go when they fade?
And what if they stayed instead?
