#thebook-illneverwrite

One day, some day,

I could see it.

A part of me is ready to jump, dive in head first

But I got that bitch tied to a tree.

A piece of me is always tuned in to you,

Always aware, always searching.

I wonder when it changed,

Changed from a place of love to a place of survival.

We say it hurts, it’s hard, we sympathize.

But we don’t talk about it,

We don’t say the thoughts that come to mind,

We don’t talk about the stopping of our heart and the bone deep grief,

Not when they’re still alive and often when they’re not.

We say we know,

We say one foot in front of the other

But we don’t talk about it,

We don’t talk about the fear of never being ourselves again,

The loss of self,

And we did

Lose our selves.. or at least a piece of us, and we will never be that person again.

The person they knew, they remember, the whole person we once knew because they took a piece of us with them.

Sometimes so small we don’t even notice, not really; a scrape on our heart that heals over quickly and we don’t really think about it again.

Some take a larger piece and it leaves a scar,

Some though, some take such a big piece we have to relearn how to exist.

We’re left with phantom pain, a hole where that piece should be and some days it feels like it should be, but your heart stutters and beat irregularly because it’s not there and it hasn’t quite learnt how to beat around the empty space.

We don’t talk about it, and maybe we should

Some semblance of not being so alone in the grief,

But we don’t, and we’re expected to just get over it and move on

And I have felt the ghost of your hands holding it tight, and I resented that all this time,

But I

I will not let this be another mark on my skin I regret,

Another stain on my soul.

I have to many of those.

I will willingly tattoo it on my heart,

And wear it with pride as I do the tattoos that coat my skin.

I won’t let this be another scar to catch in the light that makes me want to tear at my skin.

I refuse.

It belongs to you,

You earned it,

And if for nothing else

You know the ones.

The red ones,

And I haven't really thought about you much,

But I still wear the shorts and I forget what they say and laugh at my stupidity when I remember.

And on my bad days I reach for your hoodie,

The one I've debated dropping on your door step without a word, but I don't and I don't grab it

And some times rarely, the words sear into my skin as if they're a branding.

Might as well have gotten your name tattooed on me despite me saying all my life I never would get a boys name, but I would've, I would've gotten yours

And I can't decide what that means.

If it says more about you or me and I'm not sure it matters anymore or ever really mattered.

I still wear the shorts, they're the comfiest shorts I own despite the searing from time to time but I have always been a glutton for punishment so maybe I do it on purpose and I'm lying to myself.

And some days I want to light your hoodie on fire, or drop it off without a word, or reach for it but I don't.

cause maybe then nothing can creep into my head from the dark.

And I'll curl up under every blanket I own,

cause maybe then the cold can't seep into my bones.

And I'll sleep in sweats and a hoodie,

cause maybe then I won't feel the ghost of your touch on my skin if none of it's exposed.

And maybe then,

To my world

To strangers again.

Would I recognize you in a crowded room?

Maybe you look the same,