the best thing to ever happen to you will be falling out of love with someone.
I am waiting. I am exhausted, sleep doesnt come easily anymore, my nightmares are prolific and last longer than I can. I am hobbled, my knee is many shades of blue and bends like a mighty oak tree in the wind, slowly with much effort and noise. I am waiting. I am bruised and hungry but I have no appetite except for more pain. Glass still lingers in the heel of my left foot. A bite mark around the tattoo on the back of my arm. I can no longer tell if my stretch marks are coming or going. My friends, now all without lovers, are much better at this game than I. I am putting my hand to my chest to ease whatever strange things have come undone beneath. I am not angry, for once in my life. I am quiet. I am waiting. I am the sand in your suitcase you find months after your last trip. I am the things you thought you threw away that no longer haunt you and will always remain. I am the wind beating on your window, I am the wind howling through your concrete palaces and tugging at your hair. I am the mountain you thought you climbed but appears larger this time around. I am the same poem, rewritten and unedited, laying at your feet. I am the dull ache that never leaves your body, always moving from place to place. I am the kiss you no longer want and the head you have brushed from your lap. I am the endless loop of white noise that plays in your mind before you sleep. I am the weeping willow you run to hide under. I am becoming a memory because all of mine are spoken for. I am the letter that sits on your desk, numbered and true. I am waiting.
been keeping you in my peripheral view, mostly
I have come to realize two things: one, that everything I want is not good for me and two, I am not the worst things I ever did.