#stainedpages

It’s funny because I get asked that a lot.

“I think it’s the way they say your name,” I say. “Like you know it’s safe inside their mouth.”

“Could you tell me more?” They ask.

Turn the lights off. Or at least say something soon that means besides  I’m giving up on you.

There is a bitterness here that has long since cracked the gentle. I know love is stubborn, that you build it with clay but it’s meant to learn resilience not resistance to change. 

Is it the familiarity? Is it the security?

It’s strange because I always seem to find my way back here. No matter how much time passes, I make my return.

Tired of people failing to meet my expectations.

because I knew of your day—

I knew you had a lot in the way.

But, sometimes it’s difficult to keep emotions at bay,

on days filled with gray.

And I wish you were here,

so we could lay—

I often try to remind myself that the little things are significant. Seeing you smile should be enough. Hearing from loved ones should be enough. Baby steps to success should be enough.

Yet, there’s this void within me that hasn’t gone away. For the past week, this emptiness has carried over.