I don’t know where you are And it’s been years since I last saw your face Yet I’m sure yours are the only eyes In which I could look and find myself again. I don’t know where you are And I feel a bit ashamed to be saying That on some nights I’m scared You might no longer exist So I lay on top of my bed cover Without crying, trying to breathe. I know you still exist, somewhere. I can’t hear your voice Despite it still echoing in some distant room At the back of my permissive mind. This is what matters the most. Or maybe it isn’t. I look at your picture The only one I’ve got left of you And -for I moment- I almost laugh: I wonder if you’ve found a way To tame your hair Or to make your nails grow more quickly. I cannot remember why Nor when we stopped being. Being together. Being something together Whatever that something was. What I’ve got left of you today What I remember of you Is only the good. We did not say Goodbye. We did not shout at each other. I can’t explain why I am thinking of you And why I’m doing it now, Now and not when I should’ve long ago Maybe it is for how sweet You were in everything that you did For your unashamed honesty. Maybe it is because I don’t need your presence In my life right now And you don’t need me either But, despite this, I still love you. Maybe because writing to you Helps me remember that I have once been better than this That I’m capable of being light And happy to just be. You are between my fingertips Each time my hands became a little bit Stronger and stop shaking. You are in my hair When it shines in the April sunlight You are everywhere I’ve stopped ambling. You have disappeared. You’ve always been too enthusiastic And dissatisfied at the same time, So much that it almost scared me. I’ve always been much weaker Than you are, simply. I don’t know where you are I haven’t even tried looking for you And I probably won’t start now But today, I imagine. I imagine feeling less lonely. I imagine reaching out and meeting you halfway. I imagine even solitude needs to have confines.
M.B, Outgrowing Solitude