Deceptively playful, you are upbeat and tragic, you are the trills fluttering around in the quiet background, subtle and resilient. You are green-blue specks of heartbreak, of ocean foam-- you are one beautiful, maddening part of the grand build-up to the line that pulled me apart two years ago and continues to wreak havoc on my heart today. ("You go on and I'll be happier.")
But I love you. You let me sad-smile at my canvas alone in the back closet. (But I wasn't really alone. After all, you were there.) You let me feel the waves of hurt, you taught me to imagine that they were made of ocean, and so I loved you every night he was gone. And I loved you every morning, as I was cooped up and crowded, methodically making dusty purple clouds, as if producing the perfect rolling desert clouds could somehow blow him back to me. You helped me cope. Shame on me for feeling this surge of gratitude only because I need you again.
No comments:
Post a Comment