The sunshine is still here, just… reflected back. I am the moon tasting of the sun in the nighttime. The past distorts, shines brighter, cuts deeper, gives off radiation so strong my hair falls out. Everything grows back, eventually, but sobriety is a far cry from dawndrunk and I am still waiting for sunrise. I am a starfish cut in half. Half of me takes a plane to New Jersey. Half stays here. I cook half of what I would be cooking, I drive my car half as much. You are out there living the rest of what I should have. You go out. I work. I go out. You look for work. I search for a window back to you. The internet connection is slow and I think of turtles and weddings and a steady income to raise two children on. I wait. See you soon is a drastic overstatement. I will see you. That is all.
come back and fix everything.
my thoughts don’t seem to press well together, now a dirty tangle of threads instead of the once-bright tapestry. I can’t think what picture must be woven, the one so clear to me a week ago today is dim as dreams, thick fog, impenetrable. (I was somewhere else) or Soon, I will find myself waking up, shaking sweating and relieved. I will pour myself into your arms. “I had the worst dream….” Reality will be blinding us, sunrise through picture windows. This will not happen. The only present-tense that weakens my eyesight is darkness. I feel my way through four hundred days, scrape my shin on five hundred and seventy six thousand minutes, the miles an impossible maze between us. The time, moreso. This is not anguish. This is dull, confused, gray-skies ache. Your “I love you” feels more like a bruise than a promise. I am becoming far too skilled at goodbye poetry.