#heademptynothoughts

They are gone. I told them to leave.

I know. They know. Don’t tell me you can’t see.

I told them, and they heard, and they know better than look back. I am little and I am painful, if only just to look at.

Do you remember - that one time - when they looked at you and smiled? When they called, their words a worry, and thought you might save them from the dark? You’re not the mother-hen for nothing, and maybe you never were a child; but once a day, when stars come calling, maybe think of them at dawn. Think of their smile, their gentle face - think of what you did to them.

I turned away.

And right before?

I told them to get out, and closed the door.

Do you remember when the hinges shook from force, and fear, and hate? Do you remember how you screamed when no one told you, “You’re home late?”

This is a good thing, what I’m doing. I close the door so they may leave. That way, they don’t have to open it, and I don’t have to watch it swing.

You need the people.

That’s not true.

You need the people.

I don’t need you.

You don’t. I know. But maybe they, maybe those people, maybe at the end of the day, they do.

Why would they want me? Why would they want you?

Not all who lie are liars, and not all who speak shape words. You know the answer to your question, just like you know that it will hurt. Just think - you promised, once upon so long ago, that at the end of this whole story, you will be there to make a home. You said you’d take them down the coast, where the wind and ocean roam; you told them stories of a place where without you, they’d never go. 

Remember how, when days get different, they call and ask, “Are you alone?” And you say yes, because you cannot see the world unless you’re looking through a storm.

Think of how it felt, to fly above, to think of galaxies below. Remember how you saw the streets and told them, it’s not all romance in a home. Remember how you closed your eyes in search of miracles in flight; and just remember, at the last second, to not go gentle into that good night.

Don’t remind me.

You know it’s true.

I don’t want to hear it.

I think you do.

And to what end? I made them go. I shut my phone and closed the door. I said, “Please leave. I need some space.” And they never asked about a time or place.

They left the tree because it asked to topple. Can you blame them?

Not at all.

But being gone is not forgotten. Not all things fallen are made of stars. The tree will fall, the world will shudder - but you are not a flaming stone. There will be no crater with which you might destroy a home. 

Who says I won’t?

Your record, really.

I don’t have one.

Yes, you do. You build the things you’ve always wanted and then you hold them out to fall. Just hold them tight and they won’t splinter - you build things sturdy, after all.

It’s not pretty.

It never was.

What if it breaks?

Then that’s what it does.

And if they leave?

Then you will let them. You know your limits and your truths. One day they’ll stand there, and you’ll see them, just as they have been seeing you. They see a treasure in the making, a soul too bright to leave alone - and you don’t believe in what they’re saying, but for them, it’s still the truth.

Don’t use my words.

I am your words.

Don’t spin them back.