Choosing.
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 things differently if we had to do that again?
My heart asks so many questions, questions that I know I won't get answers to. And I have to be okay with the fact that I will not be getting those answers- so they will stay silent and void in my mind. I will fill these void spaces with music, color, and light. The silence is daunting. The silence is damning. The silence is crippling. But as the sun rises every morning and sets every night, the void will fill- maybe with more leaks at the beginning where I stick as many fingers in the holes to keep myself from sinking. Maybe the water will land at my chin, but eventually, I will be on the other side of fear. The holes will calcify. The air will embrace me, as it embraces everything within its existence.
Possibilities. I have to believe in the possibilities. And I believe that the only way out is through.
Even though you decided at the end of that night to quit choosing me, I hope you're okay. I hope you're happy. I hope you don't regret it.
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 things differently if we had to do that again?
My heart asks so many questions, questions that I know I won't get answers to. And I have to be okay with the fact that I will not be getting those answers- so they will stay silent and void in my mind. I will fill these void spaces with music, color, and light. The silence is daunting. The silence is damning. The silence is crippling. But as the sun rises every morning and sets every night, the void will fill- maybe with more leaks at the beginning where I stick as many fingers in the holes to keep myself from sinking. Maybe the water will land at my chin, but eventually, I will be on the other side of fear. The holes will calcify. The air will embrace me, as it embraces everything within its existence.
Possibilities. I have to believe in the possibilities. And I believe that the only way out is through.
Even though you decided at the end of that night to quit choosing me, I hope you're okay. I hope you're happy. I hope you don't regret it.
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