I’m stuck in the sap of your words. They are fruitless, at best. I try to walk away and adhesive keeps me still. I cry out, reach for your hand. It no longer reaches back. The sun shines here and I’m still cold; your frigid fire is not one of comfort or care, but convenience. Once again I am giving endlessly, I can’t stop. We both know it. At what point of you knowing are you just controlling me?
I haven’t heard from you. I got you tulips — pink and red, I know you don’t like the white and yellow ones. The cashier complimented my nails. I told her the stars match yours. What a silly thing to say. My subconscious need to bring you into every inch of my life. I suppose I’m hoping to be wrong. That you’ll show up soon and prove it to me. What a ridiculous dream.
What are you doing? How do you feel? Do your bones feel wet and heavy like mine? Do you trudge through the mud of your heartscape too? I thought release would mean relief but I’ve been falling for days. It’s bottomless, sick with whatever latched onto us both. Each movement I make feels so effortful now. Grasping at kindness has never left me this sore. I think I did the right thing. Though I never wanted what was right; I wanted you. Please tell me. That I am good, I need to hear you say it. I reach for a hand I know will never be waiting. I stretch my limbs in your direction anyway.