Tag: rememberingyou

You Saw Me, Anyway.

I disappear.

I disappeared.

I was disappearing.

And then he saw me.

In all of my flawed glory.

And I tried.

Tried, but was not successful in tearing my eyes away.

I fade.

I faded.

I was fading.

And our first kiss breathed life into my throat.

To my lungs.

To my stomach.

To my spine.

Ears.

Fingers.

Liver.

Toes.

Eyes.

Thighs.

Arms.

Hair.

And into my heart.

–S.

You held me.

Years ago – in a letter to my dead grandmother – I wrote,

I disappear.

I disappeared.

I was disappearing.

And then he saw me.

You saw me anyway.

And in your own way – you were breathing life into me. Ultimately, in the end, I think breathing life into me, made you breath life out of yourself, and you had to let me go.

So, you let me go.

Usually when I think of the men in my past – I think of the pain that came from those unions, I think of them as having shined negative light on my life, dimming my own.

But you’re different. I remember the joy that came from our union. I think of the glow you brought into my life, a neon light at the end of the tunnel, a beacon in the night.

You held me.

I don’t mean with your physical touch.

I mean,

you

held

me.

Even when you let me go,

you

          held

                     me.

You were holding me.

You

are

holding

me.

Have you ever had someone touch you without touch?

Have you ever had someone caress you with their words?

Have you ever had someone hold you with their heart?

You were my friend before you ever became my lover.

 You held me.

You communicated openly. You let me see your heart.

You held me.

I never had to question where you were or who you were with. Trust came easy.

You held me.

You understood me, like we were speaking in a language from a life before this one. Maybe your melancholy heart just understood my melancholy heart.

You held me.

I could be naked with you.

You held me.

Your eyes catching and locking with mine across the bar through the smoke, sweat, body heat, and liquor smell.

I felt you before I saw you, too.

You held me.

Your desire for me was always reflected in your eyes. Your hunger exciting me.

You held me.

You made me breakfast every morning that we woke up together.

You held me.

You took the time to read my heart.

You held me.

Your laughter was the soundtrack of my life for months.

You held me.

You would stay up with me even when you had to be up early in the morning for work.

You held me.

You were my first kiss. The first time you kissed me – you drunkenly made me ramen noodles. taking care of me even at the beginning. I was nervous and word vomiting all over the place because I knew that you were going to kiss me with your whiskey mouth. You told me to shut up and you kissed me. Being with you, was like a ramen noodle and whiskey kiss. Not understanding why two things, two people, who shouldn’t work together – work together. Shutting up, so we could shut the whole world out together.

You held me.

That night, when the stars were big and bright in Texas (not like the song, but literally) you led me through the dark in the woods, using steps you had memorized to a clearing – showing me your place to get away from the loud of the world and into the silence. Woods surrounding us, crickets chirping, breeze blowing, you held me.

Someone can hold you without ever using their hands.

They can hold you with a look,

a laugh,

a whisper,

their heart,

their mind,

their soul.

I hope that you’re not having to breath life into anyone.

I hope no one is having to breath life into you.

It’s hard work, I know.

I hope you’re simply breathing easy and living easy – and still loving – oh so hard.

I hope you were held.

If not by me, then someone after me.

I hope you’re held now.

I hope you’re holding someone.

You are still holding me, not in a can’t get over you type of way – because I am over you, but the way you loved me, the way you held me, is STILL, to this day, tiding me over until someone else can hold me.

I hope someone, someday can hold a candle to you.

You held me.

–S.

The Men I’ve Met.

For me, love, above all else, should inspire.

I haven’t met that man yet.

I’ve met the childish one that wants you to do everything for him.

I’ve met not ready, but plays with the idea of being ready.

I’ve met can’t talk about my feelings.

I’ve met unfaithful.

I’ve met blame everything on you.

I’ve met can’t have an adult conversation/argument without mentioning a break-up.

I’ve met childhood trauma that they haven’t healed from yet.

I’ve met you should’ve stayed the fuck away from me.

I’ve met the alcoholic.

I’ve met I’m just wasting your time until the next best thing comes along.

I’ve met I just want somebody – it doesn’t really matter if its you.

But I have YET to meet – because of my love, I inspire you, daily, to be a better you.

And that’s okay.

Did I mention I was 31, and that most days I feel like I don’t have a damn thing figured out.

Be patient.

Don’t rush it.

It’s coming.

–S.

As Deep as the Ocean.

My heart is heavy tonight because I realize that it may never happen again.

Not that I want it to, but I may never find another connection like the one that I have with my best friend who moved away.

Not that I’m searching, but we live in that kind of society now.

Maybe it’s the generation that I am a part of.

I went out to eat with someone today – which I don’t do often these days – and they seemed so disinterested in what I had to say.

I’d say things that I’d tell her.

I’d refer to things that she would know.

Only to find out what I already knew – that this person wasn’t her.

We like superficial things now. We interact with people at work. We interact with people at school. We interact with people at the grocery store. We interact with people at the drive-thru. But anything more than this – is simply too much for you to ask us to do.

It’s too deep.

Depth scares us.

If there is no depth, it’s easier for you to rid yourself of that person.

It breaks my heart that lifetime friendships are a rarity in this day and age.

We meet seasonal people – over and over again.

We all search for it.

Connections.

Our Heart – Our Soul – Our Spirit – Our Mind.

They all yearn to be connected to something. Not necessarily romantic in nature. But just simply the comfort of knowing that one day you might not have a god damn thing to say or won’t know how to say what you need to say and that person will understand completely.

For generations to come, I wish you friendships with the depth of an ocean.

–S.

Ghost Stories.

I am walking with your ghost again,

through fields filled with weeds, abandoned store parking lots, and cemeteries you now call home.

I am walking with your ghost again,

through empty playgrounds, the haunted city asylum, and the forest where you told me your first secret.

I am walking with your ghost again, through buildings where our laughter no longer echoes, on rusty train tracks, to the last place we were whole.

I am walking with your ghost again,

but you are fading as the sun is climbing the sky.

I am walking along again,

bracing myself for your millionth goodbye.

–S.

I Called You.

Excerpt from years ago.

I’ve had your number memorized by heart for years now. The last few years – I haven’t actually used it for anything. We are over. We don’t talk anymore. When someone doesn’t live in the same city as you in certain ways it is easier to get over them.

I never have to see you at the grocery store. I never have to pass by you on my way to class. I never have to see you at the bar with another girl. Friends and family won’t tell me that they talked to you or saw you. I don’t have to go through those feelings.

Something was making it hard for me to fall asleep two nights ago. The truth is that I haven’t thought about you in a while. And then out of the darkness of my room – your phone number manifests itself into my head. I get this feeling that I can’t shake. I have to call you. I really don’t want to go there. I don’t want to hear your voice. It’s been so long. Too long.

And then my fingers are flying across my phone. My phone is lighting up. My memory is dialing your number. Your phone is ringing. Of course I blocked my own number, so you couldn’t see it and muted my end of the phone call.

Creep, I know.

It went to voicemail and some random girl explained that she couldn’t get to her phone.

I hang up.

It gave me a sense of comfort that the number didn’t belong to you anymore.

I was trying to fall asleep last night when it hit me – I was wrong.

The number I dialed two nights ago was so wrong. The right number came to me. I dialed it again, blocked my number, and muted the call.

You answered.

My breath caught and my heart sped up.

You answered after five or six rings because I woke you up. It was about 1:30 in the morning and your voice was heavy with sleep. You kept saying hello and then you hung up.

I wanted to cry. When we were mad at each other – I would always call you with my number blocked, just so I could hear your voice before I went to sleep.

I was a teenager, in love, and dumb.

I never told you it was me and you never talked about the blocked phone calls you’d been receiving.

I think that you knew. I’m almost sure that you did.

I wanted to cry because that voice was still so familiar to me after all this time. It had been the soundtrack to many of my summers, but that boy was different now. He became a man. I was different now. I became a woman.

I hope that life is treating you okay.

And I wonder if you ever get a feeling that you can’t shake in the middle of the night telling you to call me – maybe I would pick up. Maybe you’d hear my voice again and it wouldn’t have changed.

–S.