and it's like i can't move forward in the steps laid out for me, the ones that lead me toward waking up without the echo of your voice in my ears, time after ceaseless time.
the aches i face are beyond unheard sorries and unwanted penances; the principal of so much regret as the basis for my day to day is my downfall and one of the only things that keeps me feeling anything at all.
every dream is a little more than the last, a longer look, an extra word and less hesitation, a more meaningful touch or gesture. lately things are taking a turn for the insincere and bitter, and the colors are nolonger vibrant and beautiful; now, despite hearing your voice preserved like my memory were a jar and spending my waking life reprocessing, again and again, feelings i let (or forced) myself to forget, it's a relief to wake into the same certainty of you not missing me, rather than the confusing arena of my dreams where it seems you want to forgive me, that time is taking its toll in a purely subconscious way.
and if this is true, i don't know what the future holds, and what lonliness and regret will give way to. i don't know what it means that after all this time, i still dream of you enough to keep me wondering what the reality in waking life has to do with those plots as mixed up as my feelings about you (new versus old).
maybe i should not even have feelings about you, and i should keep dreaming to wean myself from the promise of remembering.
maybe it's almost, finally, time to forget, to give up on you like you gave up on me.
12.06.2010
12.01.2010
white lies
it doesn't even feel real knowing you tell someone else the secrets that used to belong to the spaces between our respective lips and ears. displaced but not replaced, where do i fit into the picture you never finished erasing before changing your viewpoint and starting over? and it's fine, that you need to make changes and that i don't fit into what makes you happy- because you know i never wanted you unhappy- but it's not fair to appropriate what isn't entirely yours.
all those certain groups of words we fumbled to turn into archetypes of that dynamic, how am i supposed to feel seeing that parts i loaned to the bigger picture hang so far out of my view?
your silence says so much more than civil words ever could. they keep my apologies afloat, keep unspoken goodbyes hanging in the air like breath meeting a world too cold to let it survive; we're passing clouds, indeterminate shapes, we're bitterness-we are angry and it means nothing but ruin if you don't say it out loud.
at night it's worst, and i often feel like even the stars i search for answers can see that something is missing from me; they direct my thoughts to the places it might be hiding, content in your bed like a sleeping lover or underneath like monsters waiting; in hollows and crevices i couldn't have memorized better were they my own.
and it's true that i love you, because love fades and falls away, love gets bruised up and love loses faith and hope, but love doesn't die when it lives in the kind of heart that still remembers the phantom shadow of decoration removed from its walls.
my heart, it beats the same whether you think my name or not, but i can tell that it knows when you do, that it wishes it had words, wishes for ladders to hang them up high enough for us both to, for once, see clearly what it meant to say but never got the chance to.
i think you want me to miss you, as sure as remembering you helps me sleep despite it being a coldly pointed finger at every spot you used to keep warm. i won't forget those instants, how they seemed to wrap themselves in cellophane, tried to prevent the tangles knotted by sharpened corners of the moments we'd rather forget and maybe took too close to heart. those little points of light are beyond regret and guilt, existing only because they do, a reminder of the bright and overwhelming truth it's too late to digest by the time it finally reaches our eyes. i hope she's keeping you warm and that my frantic wishing doesn't disturb your sleep, i hope over these nights your eyes become accustomed to what sentiments i've tucked in the spaces of sky that you can't ignore even with eyes closed, and i think when you finally adjust to that light you'll see that i've been leaving it on for you.
all those certain groups of words we fumbled to turn into archetypes of that dynamic, how am i supposed to feel seeing that parts i loaned to the bigger picture hang so far out of my view?
your silence says so much more than civil words ever could. they keep my apologies afloat, keep unspoken goodbyes hanging in the air like breath meeting a world too cold to let it survive; we're passing clouds, indeterminate shapes, we're bitterness-we are angry and it means nothing but ruin if you don't say it out loud.
at night it's worst, and i often feel like even the stars i search for answers can see that something is missing from me; they direct my thoughts to the places it might be hiding, content in your bed like a sleeping lover or underneath like monsters waiting; in hollows and crevices i couldn't have memorized better were they my own.
and it's true that i love you, because love fades and falls away, love gets bruised up and love loses faith and hope, but love doesn't die when it lives in the kind of heart that still remembers the phantom shadow of decoration removed from its walls.
my heart, it beats the same whether you think my name or not, but i can tell that it knows when you do, that it wishes it had words, wishes for ladders to hang them up high enough for us both to, for once, see clearly what it meant to say but never got the chance to.
i think you want me to miss you, as sure as remembering you helps me sleep despite it being a coldly pointed finger at every spot you used to keep warm. i won't forget those instants, how they seemed to wrap themselves in cellophane, tried to prevent the tangles knotted by sharpened corners of the moments we'd rather forget and maybe took too close to heart. those little points of light are beyond regret and guilt, existing only because they do, a reminder of the bright and overwhelming truth it's too late to digest by the time it finally reaches our eyes. i hope she's keeping you warm and that my frantic wishing doesn't disturb your sleep, i hope over these nights your eyes become accustomed to what sentiments i've tucked in the spaces of sky that you can't ignore even with eyes closed, and i think when you finally adjust to that light you'll see that i've been leaving it on for you.
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