It’s an interesting place to be
Exactly where you wanted
The man. The growth.
Yet all you can do is confront yourself
Shame.
Black box of fear.
He’s not overthinking it, so why are you?
Pathetic woman.
Category: Uncategorized
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Duty
He says he’s fine.
But your name still cuts through him like static.He remembers the restaurant.
The light above your table.
How it left your eyes when he said “list up.”He calls it duty.
But it’s just running.
And you’re the ghost he built it all to escape. -
he thinks I can’t see
He thinks I can’t see
How his shoulders turn from me
So subtle but bright
In intuition’s spotlight
He thinks I can’t hear
When says he’s not going anywhere
That’s self soothing in a shaky voice
His own mantra; not for me
He thinks I can’t smell
The coffee is not as sweet
The morning after he deactivates
And I know it’s not me
He thinks I can’t taste
The absence of warmth on his lips
When I have to kiss first
A violation of self worth
He thinks I can’t feel
His visceral fear
That I will become her
The decision is his, not mine
A slow reveal
The depths of my empathy
Weakness of the past
As he faces his
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Afraid to ask, afraid to tell
I wonder if my presence lingered for you in the quiet moments.
You stayed with me at times.
Not a constant buzz, but a low background hum at baseline that grew louder and harder to ignore during transitory life phases – moving, job changes, breakups and burgeoning new relationships. Each a renewed silent goodbye, a new degree of separation from the time you felt like mine.
Passing landmarks we shared brought you to the forefront easily.
The park bench in the center of town down the street from our daylight ice cream turned evening cocktails. We sat there for hours talking, growing closer and getting a bit out of hand physically. In the dark, at 10pm – no one to see.
That bench prodded at my heart each time I drove by, lingering for a longer time that I’d like to admit.
It took me a while to silence the questions about what happened with you. The connection – so natural, steamy, and happy, yet deep – at least it was for me. You never gave away much verbally, but I could feel it on a soul level. Woman’s intuition at its best.
This was a true carefree summer almost love, and it haunts me to this day, 5 years later.
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Serendipity?
An inexplicable pull to visit this place.
Spiritual, visceral.
A “book this now” type of pull.
Months pass and the sting of a similar ending rocks me like disappointing quarter four earnings.
Late night silence disrupted by me finding you on Instagram. An unfamiliar move to you but to me, a silent action taken a handful of times since you left. Memories restrained for years in the deepest recesses of my psyche.
Comfort in no signs of emotional tether.
Deep down, still mine at heart.
A final sleepy scroll then I’ll put you back into the depths.
Breath catching in my throat.
The beautiful place you posted about for years – the same place that pulled me months ago.
Synchronicity I cannot possibly explain away.
Mentally drafting this, I unexpectedly drive by your old home, taunting me comically.
Later, a fawn in the road, clumsy and scared under the headlights of heavy truth.
As I prepare to sleep I click “follow” this time, hoping for a glimmer yet preparing for nothing.
Quiet affirmation that I wasn’t alone in the pain and longing. A stabbing of the heart that can only be conveyed by a better writer.
The unwritten hangs thick in the air for now, until the man who fears nothing faces his depth.
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massive little recollections
You remember the name of the restaurant.
Five years with no contact later.
Two lost kids, giggling over a dish you chose.
I was beginning to let myself really fall into you.
Finding myself while I found you.
My first Cafe Nero cold brew, on outdoor cushions. I pass by that shop and still think of you – a stable reminder of an almost over the years. In fact, a date in present time nearby and I walk in to meet a new man with you on my psyche like a super glued sticky note.
A 2pm sunshine walk to the bleachers where you showed me your tattoo and we touched for the first time. Sun setting into a dinner, your tentative mentions of marriage in the military that now display obvious intent. How could I admit that I could see it then?
Was it five dates? More than I even remembered.
There was an intangible shift that night at said restaurant – comfort? We spoke less, breathed more. I felt uneasy, though, with an understanding only granted by the sting of hindsight – your fear.
My heart sank, lungs constricted when you casually mentioned your next 3-year assignment. I hadn’t considered a departure. You began to mention it more often.
How could I possibly admit I can’t bear to see you go, after just a month? I buried it.
Dinner, then a stroll outside turned passionate expression of care in the office park. Risky. A second time in your car.
Your legs were shaking while you stood outside and we laughed.
The outdoor dining complex where we got our assigned blue/pink “boy and girl” colored straws. Dinner turned romantic walk, turned more drinks.
Elevated trust.
Bathroom breaks, my phone in your hand and yours in mine. Nothing to hide except feelings.
Each time driving home in bliss, back to reality of motherhood.
Another shift. I was losing you – was I not sexy enough? You asked for a picture of my face. A stark shift with a “that’s better” affirmative.
Less and less, and me spiraling. A date at the park, rushed this time.
You let me walk, and it was the right choice for the time.
But I remember everything.
From 2020 to 2025 your aftermath haunting me on the most mundane of errands.
Doctor’s appointments near your base.
New dates at or near OUR dates.
Fleeting memories, longing, ache.
I looked for you everywhere, in everyone else.
Did you too?
I remember everything.
And you remember the name of the restaurant.
Please don’t let me walk this time.
Fragmented Healing 