Counting the days #28
(my chalk marks on the wall of our days apart)
Day 183, prose… I have no poetry left for you:
The day came and the day went, without you, without your voice, without your touch, without a word from you.
This is being important to someone? This is caring for someone? This is meaning nothing to someone.
So here we are, here I am, where are you? I’m not really asking; I already have the only real answer you ever gave me. All the words in the world mean less than your silent statement.
You’ll never look over and see me, see me smiling at you, and smile back, never nudge me with your toes, never have me there when you’re sick, never get annoyed at me for worrying over you, never have me cook for you, never call me over to see something unbelievable or something that makes you laugh. You’ll never share that with me again.
You’ll never drink a cup of coffee that I poured for you, never pour me one, never show me your favorite kind and tell me I need to try it, never find a chai we agree on, never see me make a face at the taste of coconut water while you smile, enjoying it, never discuss pizza toppings with me, never pick food off my plate.
You’ll never again hear my laugh, hear how I say your name, hear me mispronounce things, hear me talk in stupid voices when I’m nervous, never have me read inappropriate haiku to you while you’re at work.
You’ll never take a road trip with me. You’ll never stand in an amazing new place you’ve never been, wide eyes and smile and turn to me to see the same look on my face. You’ll never swim in the blue hole with me or drink coconut and pineapple in Acapulco with me. You’ll never share anything new with me, just stale memories of times when that could have easily been different.
You’ll never wake up or fall asleep with me there. Do you understand that? Does that mean anything to you? You’ll never ask me to stay over or ask me if you can stay over, never hear me breathing, feel me against you, never wake up and see me, never fall asleep next to me, never reach over and touch me, never be held by me, never laugh with me at my cat curled up against your back, never hear me whisper in your ear how much you mean to me.
You’ll never have another love poem from me… the words that should have been for you will be for someone else. I hope you go back and read all of the words I wrote you, not to hurt you, but to remind you, maybe years down the line when you can better understand what you did, that the decision was all you… I only ever wanted to be with you.
You’ll never finish off a bottle or two of wine with me, laughing, flushed, and happy, never sit outside watching the sunset, tipsy, and smiling with me at the beauty of it all, never know summer with me, never know winter with me.
You’ll never again be frustrated by nearly everything about me.
Your lips will be someone else’s kisses and I promise you, they will never compare to mine. Never.
You’ll never look at anyone, ever again, and see anywhere close to the depth of feeling I had for you.
Somehow you’re at peace with this.
I’m done counting wasted days.
