Here is another piece I came across while going through old files. It was written after my last boyfriend left. I like it. The words speak volumes and transcend many kinds of loss.
Twenty Hours into the Grief
The moon shines through my window like a huge street lamp. Full, the rays spread out over the land, and if it were warmer, it would be a good night to dance naked.
I can’t, though. Not tonight. Not when my heart is aching and I am feeling such a loss. Not when my soul suffers the fresh scars of emptiness and abandonment. The lure of the moonlight is only a tease of what could have been.
She reaches for me. She wants to hold me, envelop me until I am well. She wants to tell me that I am finally free; free to be me, free to do what I want.
But for now, the grief is too heavy. Her arms are not real arms; warm arms, human arms. Her arms are not the solid arms that once held me tight and made me feel safe and loved.
How can I possibly think of freedom when I am feeling terribly alone? I want to be held, but there is no one to “snuggy” me. I am alone in this big king-size bed feeling the loss. I can still smell his scent on the other pillow. Part of me feels numb, empty. Grief feels frozen on my skin.
There were things I loved about him besides the “snugginess.” He’d pat me like a cat until I practically purred. He played with my hair with a comforting touch.
He had his own special names for me. I don’t think he ever called me by my real name. When we were first together, he called me, “Girly,” until the other guys at work did so, too. When we were alone, he called me, “Tit-kit-pussy” and “Woofie.” Most of the time, he called me, “Poffie” (his spelling for it although he pronounced it “Poofie”). It was kind of endearing the way he’d say these names. Sometimes he called me “Piglet” or “Pig-head.” He didn’t use his demeaning voice, but I wasn’t too fond of these latter two names.
I wonder what he calls his new love. I hope he uses new names for her.
Later tonight, the moon will pass over the house as I lie in bed. I’ll be able to see Her light through the skylight. She will remind me of things I am when I cannot sleep during these long dark hours. And although I will not fully listen, I am glad She is here.
I don’t want to think because to think is to feel and be lonely. Instead, I just might float on endless moonbeams hoping to get lost – but knowing I won’t. Perhaps, for now, floating in oblivion would be a good thing.
For over 20 years, my weekends and vacations were devoted to him. It feels strange not to have that to look forward to any more. What will weekends mean to me now? What will I do for vacations? It feels strange. What do I have to look forward to?
I have always wanted to hike, but he never wanted to. This could be my year for hiking.
There are all the art projects sitting in various stages of work in progress and ideas never put into reality. Maybe I can be the artist I always wanted to be.
I will let myself dream on the moonbeams and forget this loss. I am glad he moved on. Now I can, too.
Looking back on that night; that night over15 years ago, that night – I still remember how it felt as if it was yesterday, and yet, it almost feels like it happened to someone else. That me back then, that isn’t quite me, and yet, is me and the same me of today. I still feel the emotion because feelings of loss and abandonment are always recognizable and transcend time. I can change a few words and a bit of the situation and it is another loss with the same type of feelings.
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