There are a thousand things I want to say and none at all. Tell you about my broken healing heart and the days when I miss you so much it hurts in my eyebrows and the arches of my feet. I want to tell you about my life and about my fears and how sometimes I am so lonely I’m afraid I’m slowly going insane. Your flags are still flying in my heart and even when I close the windows I can hear them there, fluttering. I want you to know that I’m moving soon, leaving Sacramento and this world that feels so alien and cold to me now.
And I want you to tell me you still love me and miss me and understand, more than anyone else how beautiful our relationship was and how the thought of it being over, of walking in opposite directions with the directive not to look back lest we both turn to stone, is the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
I want you to see small things and think of me and wonder what I’m doing - because that’s the relationship I know now. Our ties to each other are dissolving one by one. At once it was every single fiber in my being that felt connected to you. My heart orchestrating a seamless attachment. And a dream of the life we would share and the children that you would love so much it hurt and how they would look like us both and have hearts that convinced us we did something right. And the hurts we caused and the pain we suffered would melt into this world we had created for ourselves. Now it is only your mail that still trickles into my mailbox and a shared Pandora account that lets me see the music you’ve been listening to. I find myself trying as hard as I can to find some message in it. To break it like a code.
This suffering is so raw. It is human and real and makes me want to howl at the bright, round universe - stop using words and still share with the world my pain. Maybe this is so I can unload the heaviest parts of it without having to retell my story, or perhaps it is so you will hear me and howl back.