You don’t know how much I miss you.
I know that you don’t care.
I’m wide awake while you are sleeping and
We’ve nothing left to share.
I’ll stand here and wait,
For something better, someone great…
I’ll smile and grin and bear it –
All your cruel and selfish slights.
I’ll say that I’m alright now,
That I’m drained of all my fight.
But I miss you when it’s raining.
On those days the world is small.
And the hope you might forgive me?
It’s better than no hope. Though it’s fraught.
‘Letting go is healthy’
and oh my goodness how I’ve tried.
But I miss you and
it’s futile to express what’s on my mind.
Futile is a concept that I’ve come to know quite well.
Futility is all that’s left on the days I tend to dwell.
It’s wasted thought and wasted time.
Time better spent in the sun. In the fresh air.
Learning new things.
Making new friends.
Time and time again….
Then I come home all alone and
wish you were my friend.
I don’t think it’s much to ask for.
A hello from time to time?
Something in return for years I spent
on your left side.
I left you.
Though you were gone already.
I know that it was right.
You were absent, curt and angry.
But this guilt I feel at night?
You won’t come back.
You won’t say hi.
I’ve given you our friends.
Apologies and time and space were poor means to this same end.
Of all the people on this earth,
you’re the one I shouldn’t miss.
It’s late and we’re not speaking, and
if I knew how or when or where to start?
It’s something I would fix.
Addit: I’ve come to the decision that this post requires context. This is not a recent story. I’ve read a few great pieces of writing recently and suddenly thought, dammit what’s the point of having emotions if you don’t use them to write from time to time! (The answer to that is of course that being your miserablest, craziest self on the internet is probably a bad thing… well it depends on what you’re going for, but personally, I’d like to be able to hide the evidence).
But if I have to go through post-relationship fallout again (and here’s hoping I never do!) I think I will keep a scribble book. Not for publishing. Likely for burning. But maybe it will be cathartic and save my lovely friends some time and energy. I believe I was against them in the past because it seemed better to just get on with it. Which is all well and good, until you have to face the music. And just maybe, when I’m all grown up and can laugh about it (I hear people reach this blessed time at some point), I will be able to extract the gist of the emotion to write another poem, which will be my third, ever.
So, in the spirit of promoting lemonade made from the lemons I would like to share the following posts with you…
Easy – Coco J. Ginger, WordPress
Open Letter to Everyone Who, When My Fiancé Left Me, Told Me It Was “His Loss” – Megan Van Loh, via McSweeney’s Internet Tendency
Brownies with Bite – Olivia Youngers @ Rollings Reliable, WordPress
If you are a reader or a writer but not a journaler, consider a temporary scribble book when life gets you down. Or as my year 3 teacher once said…”Write it. Don’t say it”. Actually that was a game we played in class, a designated time for notewriting – another ingenius idea from a primary school teacher to create classroom silence for 30 minutes. Remind me to tell you about hunters and lions sometime.