Hi y’all. Today’s poem was written by @ritzyliciousme. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Maybe I hurt so much because I don’t have enough moments to cement us, To make us real enough,
Maybe I can’t sleep because my sheets are not sodden with the smell of you, Maybe it hurts so much because they have never been.
Maybe my heart wreaths because I have no keepsakes, No pieces of you to hold on to or rip apart while I cry my heart out, No Tee, No Picture, No match box from a cafe we visited together, No bottle of perfume you got me for my birthday or our anniversary or something, No wristwatch that I’ve worn for so long I’ve had to change the batteries and the leather straps.
Maybe I sit on the floor and cry because the floor isn’t marked with your footprints, Because I can’t see the scar on my neck from when you bit too hard, Because there has been no time like that, No memories of your kisses, No recollection of meaningless combat, Or rhythmic dances.
Maybe I refuse to forget because the story isn’t over, The cabin is still unsoiled with us, The cities haven’t been invaded by us yet, Your hands haven’t fit into mine yet, My bosom hasn’t been your pillow yet, Your arms haven’t been my pillar yet, The small of my back is still bereft of the pressure that you are supposed to put on it, Your arms haven’t ached from that time when you carried me, Your back doesn’t have the scar from when I scratched too deep,
I don’t have the pictures from that holiday we spent with your family yet, Or the videos from the two weeks we spent with mine, I haven’t been broke from that painting I got you yet, My wallet is still too full because I haven’t gotten your niece that toy yet, You know the one that you are supposed to accuse me of buying as bribe so she’ll like me more than you. My tummy hasn’t ached from that time I laughed because your friends told me the funniest things about you. No, not yet.
Maybe if I had these moments it’d be easier to reconcile this conclusion, Maybe then I’d be able to rationalise this, Maybe then I’d be able to tell myself that all good stories come to an end,
But how does a story come to an end at the prologue? How does a moment end before it starts? How do you wake up from a dream as soon as you start to sleep? How is a dress you just bought and are about to wear faded and worn already? How is a canvas discarded as soon as the outline of the piece is sketched?
Maybe if I had these keepsakes, This large chest of memories of us, I’d be able to do something that can signify an end to us, Tuck the chest away maybe, Somewhere in my basement, Or set fire to it, Smash the perfume you bought me, Burn the painting you got me, Scratch my neck so that I don’t see the spot where you branded me, Maybe if I could distort these items of us, Then the process of ending us would be a lot easier than it is now.
Maybe it’s because this story seems so incomplete that I can not say this love has run it’s course.