Tears cascade, our love is gone
Her past fell away
She shed her skin
Now, she could begin
She tried to open her eyes, but it was an impossible task. And, she knew why.
They were both bruised, blackened, and swollen shut. If she let herself cry, the tears would have no form of escape.
In truth, she was all cried out.
He had really lost it this time…
Every other time he’d been careful not to hit her in any visible places, but something she had said or done had tipped him over the edge.
She had pretended to be asleep when he’d rolled in at 2 am. He must have been with another woman, but she was past caring.
They were welcome to him.
He was the man she thought she would settle down with, and have ‘the happy ever after’ with.
Handsome and successful.
A good guy.
All his family loved him, and his friends thought that the sun shone out of his backside.
But, she knew the other side of him.
A bone fide, first rate bastard.
Why the hell did she still fight for him?
Why did a small part of her still love him?
She had tried her best to hate him, but she couldn’t.
What sort of a weak, pathetic person did that make her?
When he wasn’t this out of control monster, he was sweet and kind. So, each time, she picked herself up and brushed herself off, and told herself it would be the last time.
He always promised that it would be.
He always lied.
She was preparing herself for the apologies, the flowers, the presents, and the crocodile tears that would undoubtedly be flowing like a river.
This time though, she had no intention of waiting around for them.
She. Was. Done.
She is the sun setting in his heart
She is the rain falling in his mind
She is the breeze whispering in his soul
She is spring, summer, autumn, winter
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Falling into the beauty of you
Your love colours my world, beautifully
Entangled, entwined, basking in the warmth of a sunlit kiss
Perhaps this might be, as American author Joan Didion phrases it, a “bankrupt morning” where you wake up, devoid of inspiration for your creative projects.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I’ve got some inspiration in a very short recommended read from the poet Mary Oliver. In her poem The Summer Day, she mediates on creation and attention, and in so doing, urges us to seize possibility with a beautifully simple question:
Tell me, what is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
—The Summer Day by Mary Oliver
Listen to Mary Oliver read The Summer Day:
And now, Tell me, what is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Take my hand, and step through the stars with me.