turn on the night light

 I attempted to find new love after I lost you and it worked as well as you would have expected. It was rough,  a roller coaster I couldn't stop myself from riding over and over again no matter how much it left me sore in the morning. my soul came alive and burned a flame  bigger than I imagined and the adrenaline shot through my veins quicker than any injection high could have given and I went back, first in line, every time, and I pulled the bar tighter and tighter to hold on to it knowing it would hurt me later on, smelling the rust on my hands from the firmness of my grip,  and how disappointed you would be to  know I kept riding that ride knowing I was aware of the pain and realizing I let someone treat me that way  after how much you loved me. 

They say time fills the void that grief brings  That life becomes easier and we are supposed to feel comfort in knowing that the emptiness and the pain weaken their grips around our throats  How happy we should be to allow these to pass  But I would rather the emptiness fill me like a garden hose in an Olympic pool and the pain dull like an open break sealed with bandaids  And when they ask me why  I tell them dead in their faces  That the emptiness and the pain are more bearable than knowing  I forget the sound of his voice that grounded my being and I forget the way my skin bumped when he touched me  And that I'll forget the smell of his favorite cologne melting into his skin and I won't ever feel my heart race the same as when I l looked into his eyes I tell them that the antagonizing deprivation of all senses of him is even greater a loss than they could comprehend And I tell them the next time they choose to speak their so called comforts to ...

like a breath of  fresh air, I close the door  and I can finally say,  "I'm home." a space that is mine, and mine alone. because of you, I am  alone. and yet, there has not  been one moment where I pictured you closing the door and I hear you say,  "I'm home."

I remember the lines  of your face. the wrinkles around your eyes when you smiled. the curves that framed your cheeks and lips as you bared  your teeth in a cackle or two. your cheeks bounced with a slight poke to your warm, oily skin. your lips chapped on the bottom left from you constantly biting throughout the day. your forehead, red and blotchy  from the strap of your hats that you wore until  they were stiff.  and as you laid in front of me in your forever space, I had to relearn the way your face felt as  cold.  caked with makeup  that gave you a  a deathly glow of bronzer and foundation. your lines were gone, your cheeks wouldn't  bounce. they covered the crack  in your lips that you bit and all I wanted  to do was hit you until you  woke up. 

An empty room Filled with bodies Voices of different Tones and pitches And volumes. Stifled cries In the corners, Whispered sentiments by the photos, Muffled screams From his mother In the chair Adjacent To the giggles that Came from The pew of the casket Where I laughed With friends As we reminisced Of the days that Were simpler. Hands and hugs And hard squeezes And heart break And so many voices From the bodies that filled The empty room That held Him.

 We sat in silence in Room 1220, the bustling of the nurses feet and the machines around us filled the space.  beep, beep, beep.  On other sides of the room  as we awaited  your final return.  The hope from his mother filled the air, his life flashing before her eyes, and all she wanted for his future, her bright, shining boy.  I wish I could have  shared that with her, sitting in the chair by the window.  I could not see him in that future. A mere shadow  stood across from me  at the altar.  An empty figure  sat with me at the dinner table, and next to me at the bar. A clouded presence was all I saw  when I was teaching my children to cook our family meal.  I knew he was gone, and I had 32 more minutes until I was proven right. Until then, we sat in silence. 

As the wind blows  The tiny hairs  Along my face, Across my nose, I look across to see  A squirrel.  And in its eyes, I think it knows,  The winter is near. The leaves will fall,  And the pile grows.  But as the wind blows,  The chill goes low,  And I bundle up warm,  From my ears to my toes, And I look down to see  That the edges of my tea  Have grown cold. I remember to take a sip And the inner warmth flows.

I remember the curves of your face,  The edges of your smile and your chin  Where the thick bristle of beard hairs  Sat unkempt and untrimmed.  I remember the blues and greens  In your eyes When you looked at me  Behind the long lashes I envied, The ones I dreamed our children Would one day have.  I remember the brown hair You kept dirty and wild, Always wondering how long You could let it grow.  I now memorize the edges  Of your stone,  Curves of Cold marble that sits  And tingles my fingertips when I graze them to say hello.  The blues and greens  Now surround you, From the infinite skies  To the grass that's now Grown on the mound you Lie beneath.  The copper browns we see  Now state  Your name,  The dates,  And the words that will forever  Identify who you were  To the world.  I still see you in color, But the canvases  Had to change. 

 Not every mother neglects And not every father threatens Not every lover will leave because You cry too much And not every friend will resent Because your opinions change. Like in every bushel There are a few bad apples That make you believe the rest Will go bad.