I live because of you, you and you, but I don’t know how to live for me. I obligatorily exist for fear of hurting you. I’m just here.
I miss you, covered the parts that hurt with tasks, sleep and success, but that no longer fills the brim. It skims the surface along with crusty regret, hot anger & moist pain. I’m just here.
I’m an empty maraca double fisted by fate that exists, but makes no sound. The last time I tasted your name it was bitter, and the time before that it was less than sweet. Feeling is much more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I surrendered to the reality and that made it even more unbelievable.
I grieve for the times we never had, the times I wish we had, the shit you said to me, and the way I wish we were, but can never can be.
I dug a hole to hide from the shame and wallow in the memories, but I don’t even know how to take the first step out to life because I’m just here for you.