Monday, February 15, 2016

let me be here

In a night will little sleep I dreamed about a house without a vegetable garden where the sky is deep, deeper than the ground.

Days fall long across the blankets.

In the wind, the branches chatter against the low roof like school girls.

There is a Hitchcock feel to the place; old rolling super 8 with its flickering frames.

I remember really needing help there. Crouched in a corner on a dark slate floor, blood trickling down my face. 

Drowning in the emptiness in my stomach .
Holding fast to the pounding in my head. 

Afraid,but not knowing which was worse, 
him leaving me there or him coming back for me.

I remember the words in my head “I’m done”. 
As if I had honestly thought I had the

That moment is a black hole in my life. It spins around pulling things in and spitting them out.

When the world feels precariously askew it sends out a dark echo “I’m done.”

When I hear it I ask the same question: 
You are done with what?

There is no answer.
It is a ghost.
It is the tip of silence.
Words carved in stone but erased by time.

So let me be here beside you and nothing more.
Let me rest in your shelter before I move on.

Let me hide in your sureness.
Let me breathe in your breath.

And let me walk away when we can do no more for each other.

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