Sometimes the thoughts to peer in arrive – especially in those inevitable passings when I am reminded of things that would only sing to your ears. And I look. A window shopper in a store that has since been shuttered. That’s just how it is now.
The death of a muse. Daydreams about sighs under the bridge, chasing moonrises, finding beauty in the often overlooked and the most comfortable of silences. Moments that felt like safety as an empire crumbled around me. And you just watched it happen while hiding the dagger behind your back. A back turned away from mine. Judas.
Your silence and absence resonated. Perhaps that departure was necessary, even if it left me broken, bleeding and without explanation. However, there is something I have learned: Wounds heal better when left to their own devices and aren’t being prodded. A lesson I had to learn the hard way. And that is how I know I was right to let that door get so callously slammed, even when my fingers were still clinging and clawing to the frame wishing it could have been something different.
Solitude can be a place for resurrection, redemption and in many cases the most beautiful and rewarding. I know we both are getting our tastes of it and for that I am utterly grateful. We didn’t fall prey to masking our respective struggles with human shaped band-aids. I know I am better for it because flowers don’t bloom in old Earth – you just couldn’t help but look for the warning sign and ran while I painted images for you in my blood.
We are not the same.
I’m translucent like water, authentic and fearless. I speak truth. I’ve lost so much already, so what more is there to lose? That’s just who I am. I would be amiss if I denied there aren’t fragments of me that miss it and you – and I know you do too… more than you were ever brave enough to admit and I just don’t open the drawers of my heart for cowards. Not anymore.
It’s a shame, friend, because this is the best version of me yet and you’re missing Her.