Querencia

I finally did it. I finally took that ugly brown bag of all my things that belonged to your home, which became my home for the time that it was. I finally dumped all of its contents out on my floor. I looked down at history. I looked down at our history; my history. I put this off for two weeks because well... 1. mostly I was lazy 2. eh, I don't want to deal with it 3. this is gonna bring up some emotional shit 4. fuck I remember quickly stuffing this brown bag of my things, crammed in a small space, like my heart felt that night. So here are the remnants of what once was, still laying on the floor. As I am giving more love to myself, to my close friends, to my moments, I'm past the broken promises and the sweet nothings once said, which now feel like wisps of wind. You chose to erase me from your life; I choose to celebrate and learn from it. I recycled the bag. I'm ok. I'll put away the remnants tomorrow- parts of history recycled, parts of me recycled....

How is it I try to write, but I just can't seem to get the words out that I need to? Time will heal. I am on the side of fear-- it's okay to be here. It's okay to be on the side of fear. It's okay to be on the side of pain, pain not caused by me. I hope you're okay. I hope you're happy. I hope you don't regret it because here I am regretting it for you. I hope you're not hurting. Do you see more clearly? Do you miss me? Do you miss knowing that I would love you for the total of you? Do you miss my touch? Do you miss my warmth? Do you miss saying my name?  Do you still cry for me? Do you still keep the right side of your bed empty for me? Do you still smell me on your hands? Do you look at the emptiness of your room and imagine me filling space? Were your final words a lie? Did you mean those final moments? Do you still replay that final night? Did you cry when I left? Did you cry the next night when you realized I wouldn't be back? Would you do t...

Time can be as linear as we make it to be. It starts at a point.. then it moves, but variables cause this move to be an experience different than an experience another may have. Sometimes it moves slowly, short bursts of conversation, hesitant meetings, stolen kisses that turn into sporadic touching of warm bodies, intertwined in the light of the moon, yet waking up alone in individual beds- afraid of the commitment of staying until the sun rose. Sometimes it moves in paces. Laughing moments here and there, time spent together, time spent apart, but most importantly, time spent dedicated to each other. The length of a pace is different upon the stature of the person. Therein lies some misunderstanding that may occur between the pair.  A slow response, sense of lack of interest, sense of overeagerness, time not spent together, time well spent together, and different stages of learning.  The moment we met, in that bar, on that evening, I looked at you and had no idea what ...

Here sprung June out of the abyss that we call time. Not that we pay much attention to time, only by the glance of my watch or looking at my phone running to the next meeting. I guess all I really measure my time is by weekends and the memories that ensure from that weekend. I write when I no longer have the strength or effort to consolidate each of the pain points in my current state, hence I write words in cadenced lines hoping that they melodically come together in a way that breathes the way I do. There have been many swings in the past few months. Some things that I take ownership of, but others that were just a part of life's mood swings. But, here I am. In the past two months, I have told someone that I loved them, I lost a job, I got a new job, got to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of my grandma, grandpa, and cousin passing. I got to go to Cabo for the first time with my partner. I got to fall more deeply for my partner and learn more about it. I was able to be there ...