#heartbreak diary

[mouthfulofmaybes]

"Maybe they're right — if grief is love's final translation."

[mouthfulofmaybes]

I don’t ask for love anymore.

I just wish

You’d understand what you are

To me.

A heartbeat I can't discard.

A story without an ending,

A wound that’s a work of art.

You are restraint,

And I am overflow.

You are edges,

And I let it all show.

You mean more than you’ll ever know,

in moments you won’t keep.

Your name’s a lullaby and a bruise,

you haunt both dreams and sleep.

[hit-the-dirt-and-get-back-on]

I think I'm shutting down.

[hit-the-dirt-and-get-back-on]

So it turns out that reading old messages isn't great therapy.

[mouthfulofmaybes]

You'll move on not knowing, and I'll move on not healed.

[mouthfulofmaybes]

[animalyears]

And it sucks cause like damn am I ready to be married. But in a much more real way no I’m not.

I wish I wanted exactly what they have. Figuring out my own way to do it all is harder.

I was really ready for what I thought marriage would look like to him. I was ready to be done changing and growing and just be His Wife. And now that I don’t want that everything seems much further out of reach.

But authenticity is worth it, I shout it until I’m hoarse and drag myself kicking and screaming towards things I know I want.

I’m excited to do a welcoming ritual. New thoughts, new modes of communication with the deities, new new new.

[animalyears]

I was always a good cook.

Long afternoons spent with my mother kneading dough

It came natural to me, as it should, she said, it was my place.

His soup is still better than mine

I ask how to no one in particular

He’d tell you I stir it too much, worry at the pot instead of letting it simmer

And though that was once said with his arms around my waist, laughing a little, gentle, as he pulled my eager hands from the spoon

I wonder now if he says it with derision.

She always stirred it too much.