For you, and only you,

Since we stopped being a “we” 

I have been in a constant game of double dutch 

Where one rope is my head 

And the other being my heart.

When I finally get over the nagging thoughts

The thoughts that beg to text you, 

The thoughts that understand, 

The thoughts that wish it as different,

The thoughts that regret it all, 

The thoughts that are so happy I got to experience it, 

The thoughts that want us back. 

I am thrown over the feelings in my heart.

I’m sad,

I’m mad, 

I’m hurt, 

I’m in love, 

I’m lost, 

I’m alone. 

And then they continue. 

I am constantly on a loop. 

I have given myself no breaks. 

I am letting myself feel every single emotion that comes with your loss. 

See I lied to you. 

I lied that I never want to see you again.

The truth is: 

I wish I could walk into my room 

And see you 

You’d be laying on my bed 

You’d be reaching over with your arm, 

Pulling me in, 

And we would lay beside each other 

And do something we always used to do.

Maybe we’d sit silently and read separately. 

Interrupting the silence occasionally to read something aloud. 

You’d read something funny that would lead to an hour explanation, 

I’d read something crazy and then explain to you the entire plot of my book,

You’d hold me in your arms the entire time. 

And then if I tried to get up,

Without looking you’d pull me back down. 

I miss the way you did that. 

You would do it a lot in your sleep. 

If I woke up in the middle of the night,

You would always be wrapped around me, 

If I tried to get up, 

Your breath wouldn’t change,

Your arm would just instinctively pull me down to you, 

Without waking you would wrap yourself around me again 

So peacefully. 

As perfect as that was. 

As much that i loved how you still craved my touch unconsciously,

I know that is something that can not be done forever. 

You told me this is what you need right now. 

I told you I can not and will not wait for you. 

That isn’t entirely true. 

Part of me, 

All of me right now,

Most of me for awhile, 

Some of me forever,

Will always crave you too. 

I know that this is just for now,

But I will not lock myself in Pandora's box. 

I will keep living as much as I can. 

And if 

In the future. 

When you show up with my ring, 

My favourite flowers,

The stuffed cows you have custody over,

And you heart, 

I hope that we fit together again. 

It is comforting to me to know that you are so unbelievably stubborn, 

Because I know, 

With all of my heart. 

That one day you will fight for me,

In the way I had fought for us. 

And maybe it will all be better. 

So for now,

I’ve decided to jump 

Between right now

And the future. 

Living my life and giving myself the opportunities I need.

Because you are right. 

We are still young, 

And just because you aren’t ready for forever yet,

And I am, 

Does not mean I will stop growing. 

Because when I said you can be in love 

And continue to evolve as a person, 

I was right,

And I am so deeply sad that you do not see that you are wrong. 

Until then, 

I’m yours.

Instead of a short story, I have submitted a poem. Because that is not the guidelines, I'm just submitting my piece to be read. In an effort to push myself to write more, I want to show my pieces on here. Mainly because I don't understand blogs, but also because I love the prompts. 

I'm trying to branch out in my writing. Write pieces that hurt me, write something that fuels me. 

Since submissions must be a thousand words and my poetry does not make the cut I want to reflect on what I wrote. 

This piece is raw and almost entirely unedited. The punctuation is wonky and it may not make sense entirely. I wanted to transparently reflect the way in which I felt, well feel. I want to learn how to share my work without deep fear of being noticed and hated. I want to prove to myself that the intimate act of sharing my own written words does not have to be so scary. I can do this. I should do this. I am going to need to get used to doing this if I ever want to be a writer. And I really really want to be a writer. It's all I've honestly ever really wanted. 

I guess this is more of a diary entry, an embarrassing attempt at a reflection. The truth is I’m hurt. I’m experiencing a type of hurt mostly everyone has experienced or will experience. This is my way of navigating the painful feelings that come with losing someone you love dearly. This is my way of turning my emotions into my muse. Writing how I feel and not letting myself judge the words away. 

I read something once that said writers never know how to stop talking. That they frequently will write for paragraphs more than they need to to express their point clearly. That it will get to a part where they are essentially running their words in circles and patiently undoing all the excellent work they had just done. 

My truth is that I was broken up with in a city where the only person currently here is my ex boyfriend. As a university student about to start school, none of my friends are back yet. So I can’t spend hours ranting where I go back and forth between hating someone and lying to them. So instead I’m turning my writing into my friend. Potentially unraveling my words, or potentially making them better. I don’t really know what I am doing. But I guess that is the truth that most people live.