I know I started this as a dating blog, but it's so much more than that.
This post is about loss; a heartbreak not received during intimate relations of a boy and a girl pursuing love... this is a different kind of pain.I miss you.
Why’d you have to go? I don’t mean why’d you have to go like that or why was there urgency in your departure— I mean more along the lines of why aren’t you here? Why can we no longer exist together in the same space, breathing the same polluted and humid air? Why can’t I see you beyond a framed picture with tear stains on the glass? Why can’t I see you past the graphic image my mind created of how they found you? So I’ll get a tattoo, a brand of you that I summoned control. Because the inner brandings are too much— I can’t console. Can’t console myself, or my mother, or my friend because what I’m consoling is the circumstances to your end. The end is supposed to be happy; the end is supposed to evoke hope. But all I feel is emptiness and wincing memories of words you spoke. Half of this ode is rhymed and the other half is confessions of how I’ve been spinning my time. Spinning webs of denial and feeling deserted and spinning of why I’m left here without you. Apart is what we were never destined to be… I guess I never really grasped destiny, but then again, maybe it grasped you. Maybe it will never grasp me because loneliness has such a tight grasp. With all my ramblings and whispered ranting, I just want to punch into written word: I miss you, I wish you weren’t among the clouds and trees and birds, and I’m sorry for not being more to you when you were among the roads, streets, and homes. I love you and this semicolon, violin, and fleur de lis is for you— permanently, like the impression of your heart and everything you were. Still, there’s so much love.
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Caution*** this is not a jovial poem but, it's powerful and written with too much love to measure.Another young one has departed us The glimmer left is only dust. The hurting hundreds and things unanswered Things that take them, from suicide to cancer Of ridicule, violence, and depression And other things I should not mention But to stay silent would be a disservice To the ones lost, unfulfilled with their purpose. What a devastation to die at 22; There’s too many journeys, yet to pursue Oh the experience you’ve yet to feel at 25 And the relationships taken for granted, dreams still alive. The copious wisdom and promotions yet to earn Building new memories quickly have been burned. Painsteaking to say, celebrations cease. No candles to add, an absence of peace. Individual hourglass tossed on its side; Emptiness/devastation won’t subside. Many copious moments they’ll never see; How do you expect to ever again be happy? Shattered hearts flickering here on the ground Tears on our pillow, cause they’re not around But what about the more seasoned of us? The forty-something-year-olds, so robust. Vanishing from the loving life that they knew Fruition fuse prematurely blew. Leaving behind one that took a vow Expected to keep living— but how? Not to mention the little ones, so impressionable Standing in the parlor suit, dress, and all Staring in disbelief: breathing less than steady Anything to see you again, Jesus, I’m ready That’s not how that works— not quite that naïve Once called to heaven, how could you ever leave? The memories are all that remain But is their story all that plain? The life they lived cannot be condensed Into one sermon, one obituary to recompense The jokes, the laughs, and problems solved Good times spent and strength involved The impression they stamped runs deep-- Evokes emotions of their absence to seep Through my day to day and I’ll never be the same My heart will forever sing tribute to their name. The love will never fade, it’s just long-distance I wouldn’t be who I am without their existence. This is just farewell for now I’ll see you again, somehow. Thanks for your time and simply being you With you on my heart I’ll make it through. I love those I’ve lost— wish they were here ideally But our lost loves are not lost-- no, not really. Dedicated specifically to the souls of Kalem, Dennis, Cindy, and Joan.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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