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.

Like the strum of the guitar My body moves to the chords  I create with my fingers. I know the sound I am meant  To hear  And yet I know that the  Strings are out of tune. All it takes is a tiny twist Of the knobs but each twist  Pulls at the strings  With each memory tied to them  Like the knapsack on the stick  That the child takes on their first ever  Journey across the river. Each twist of the knob and  Each pull of the strings takes me Back to those memories  I carry along my back  My knapsack filled with  Rocks and stones  And none of them precious  And they all seem too heavy  To carry and I seem to buckle  And may fall off the track, But I step I strum my fingers after The first twist and I hear it, The sound meant to come From the strums of the strings  And I play,  Until I hear the sound of the tune  Out of place  And I do it all over again. 

I'm consumed by the thought of you.  The chap on your lips, the lines of your brown eyes, the graze of your fingertips along my chin bounce around in my head, a celebratory dance that circles my mind, when I think of you.  The depth of your voice matches my desire to go, know,  you, myself,  deeper than the passerby can fathom in their lifetime. The rush of adrenaline that floods my veins when I see you again, each time, like that first January night, only, stronger.  I can feel the cold leather against my skin as I felt that first touch.  The scent of you left me in tangles, twists and turns I dared not undo.  I shook out of my shoes and glared into the space I occupied that you called yours.  You stared at me from the stairs that seemed miles away, I blink and you were there, consuming me in the space where I dare not move.  Breaths were short, my heart beat out of my chest and into my fingertips and you kissed me, the brush turned to press...

you stood still,  silent watching me cower   in awe, while I slowly take  one,   two,  three steps back. knowing the flames  from within you  could, would,  will, burn me. but the fire is so  warm,  I feel cold as I  move away from you. I shudder, I feel it  in the tops of my fingers to the tips of my toes.  I couldn't find your gaze, to see what you hid within, behind,  your eyes.  you turned to me. the golden glimmer  I anticipated to see was instead, red. red turned to black as you held your gaze. I become immobile,  frozen in my tracks as you start to move  towards me, slowly, each step you take  I feel my heartbeat go, higher, faster. the fire, I no longer feel  the burn. rather, I am ignited by your flames from within, again. I am, again, consumed. intoxicated,  seduced by the  curiosity of the darkness and the flames. the urge to surrender  to you grows, st...

I pity those who choose not to feel love, to see, love.  For the beauty and  the promise within is worth the risk of  pure, absolute, vulnerability.  To build a foundation where walls are no longer needed, or wanted.  The relief of  allowing another to break down the walls you built up for yourself, to allow them in and feel the weight  remove itself from you, your mind. Your mind is clear, yet filled with images  of them, their smile. their voice,  their touch. The things that draw you  closer and closer  to their space, forming into yours. To choose a life lived  alone, isolated,  cold. I pity those who choose  not to understand.  To experience the warmth  of love is to let go and hope, know, that they will catch you  on the way down.

what I was once consumed by  in another, I am now consumed by  the thought of you. I often find myself stuck, not in a rock,  or a hard place,  but between the blankets  and sheets, wrapping themselves around us to keep us close. I immerse myself in the sounds of your breath, knowing tomorrow  I could still hear more. they deepen as we move, and soften as we lie still. I sink into your touch, all around me as you explore, never doubting the affection that comes from your hands.

 your eyes filled my soul  with comfort, excitement, terror. i saw the shape of  your wings and immediately melted   into them. they held me so perfectly, strong. your scales, each one different from the other. i noticed the ones  that were battered, scarred, dark, and i saw the ones that  shone, bright,  glistened, and mesmerized even the blindest of souls. all parts of you that  should scare me away, but i walk closer and  closer to you. magnetized by the way  you move, the way  you speak. but the fire, the fire has changed now.  the inevitability of reality that i chose to ignore, that even the brightest  of creatures could  overcome, or withstand. no, not even i can love  through this fire. the fire that once  surrounded me in warmth, began to, at last, burn me alive. beauty may fall in love with the beast, but only when the beast comes first. 

 you  remind me of him. not the way  you  look, the way  you make me feel.  wanting what i can't have.  what you won't allow me to give.  you're intoxicating,  the word i used only to describe him. consumed by his voice, as i am yours. driven to addiction,  a fiend for your  passion,  drive,  attention,  affection.  a lack of which  seems punishing to me. your words, though, punish most of all. hurt, rather, yet i yearn to hear  them leave your lips, full,  as they were on mine.  ours, ours would  never be.  a sentiment  you  both shared, yet lead me with your eyes, your words, unspoken  as i read between  the lines of your lips, your eyes,  your lies. no, you never lied. yet you  tried again, and again to pull me deeper,  darker, into the world  you perceived on your own. a world fit to hold me, close,  at arms distance away. to push and ...

i felt the weight  on my shoulders. my chest sinking, heavy. it made me feel breathless, and could not tell you why. the questions flooded, poured into my mind. would you run? i said the words, breathless,  and i stared, breathless into your eyes. you reminded me what it feels like to want to look at someone  and feel breathless. 

if you pulled me close as much as you push me away, maybe you would  see the light in my eyes  that brightens,  sharpens,  from your gaze.  maybe. there are no maybes for you. no perhaps grey areas don't exist in a mind that is so  black,  and white. white, not light,  for the darkness  within you pulls me in,  but not because you  want it to,  but because, i like that it does. 

 the void is dark, grim, an endless abyss  that swallows  what tries to fill  the emptiness of where your life once occupied. it spins, a vortex consuming the happiness in waves that crash around it. time doesn't heal the wound that came from your leave, it only scabs the edges of the void, to be picked and  let bleed when its ready to take me in.  there are times where i am too weak  to fight. and i let it go,  grasping me tight and pulling me down, falling heart first  into anything but a  wonderland.

 she welcomes the winds  that attempt to knock her down. swift and strong, all around her. turbulent and twisted,  tornadoes that sweep her off her feet. yet she pulls herself  down, her roots bear the will to keep her grounded.  the weakness they see is not all that she feels. her strength,  the resilience in her veins flows through her  more than blood.  when she touches down, she stands. and she goes on. step by step, she carries the weight  of the winds behind her. her past on her shoulder and  the world around her  watching, waiting to see if she falls, and for how long. her ankles tremble, she feels the weight  and senses the urge  to give in. but she stands. and she goes on.