I constantly reopen old wounds
hoping that maybe they won’t hurt as much this time
hoping that maybe I really have moved on
but perhaps I’ll never “move on”
as much as become accustomed to it
too well acquainted with the cuts you
left on me
too familiar with this painful
to ever let them fully heal
She is solid
an unmoving river that has coincidentally
washed all my sorrows away.
And if it were not for her
I don’t know if I would have
both my legs to stand on
or both my lungs to breathe
as they beat in my chest
reminding me that I am still alive.
And I’m alive.
That’s the miracle of it all
that reminds me to be grateful
when I get out of bed each morning.
I’m still here
with both my hands and my heart
and my sickly brain
And she is the only reason I breathe
she is the only obstacle.
My heart has swelled
to the size of an ocean,
and all I can do
is blame you.
I know not the countless hours I have waited to hear you speak my name,
to hear your voice dance through my eardrums, once again,
pirouetting its way to my heart.
I know not the number of days I have counted on my nimble fingers,
anxiously waiting and wondering when I might be graced with your encouraging presence,
with your superior divinity.
I know less of many subjects, but of you,
I know well enough.
I know the curve of your jaw,
the touch of lips,
the glint in your eyes,
and the love in your heart,
but I know not where you are.