The Constant Constellation

Dedicating myself to a year of the most terrible, most honest, and most vulnerable writing ever.

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I do not need to, to be whole again

I want you to know I have not forgiven you And I never will

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Day 365

It ends in a cabin at the edge of the woods back at the beginning again the start of a chapter titled with my name

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Day 364

There is no smoke between us because there is no need to fill space between words when they flow from us so naturally

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Day 363

For the first time this trip is mine to take or share, but I will not steal it the way he did this time last year. It is ours.

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Day 362

No one pins my wings anymore, laces my blood with poison to preserve the thought of me, the little mouse I once was. No one puts me on display anymore.

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Day 361: Acrophobia

I am afraid of heights. The air thins anxiety cuts through me like a knife, so that I might not even move away. For years I thought it was because I knew I’d jump, thoughtless into the street or canyon. I would drift weightless and never know anything but that feeling of falling straight into the arms of the ever-patient reaper. But though the thought may plague me, fill my mind moments I am closest to the edge, eye to eye with my demons, I know now that it is a fear of falling.

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Day 360

When I look in your eyes I am not lost. I am not less of myself as I melt from the intensity of our stare. I feel more, feel everywhere, and fill the world with the warmth in my heart because it is all I can do at the sight of you.

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Day 359

I want to tell you that I spent days worrying, nights even dreaming of the ways in which the world hurt us. We fell apart, sinfully silent, kept secret the ways they tortured us and I wanted you to know that in our lowest moments you were never alone. I found kinship miles away, at the end of a socket, at the end of a bottle but I could not tell you how I knew.

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Day 358

We abandoned it, the warm lights wrapped around false boughs, raised by rusted metal trunks, but the presents still haunt us from the dimly lit corner. Packed in glittered bags, the ghosts of holidays past. There is no Christmas here anymore.

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Day 357: Rosé

Thoughtless, I sip the red wine from the white plastic cup. Finish it unthinking. You find me unfazed by the bitter taste of poison though I laugh at you, the snow-white man in the wine red sweater. We kiss as if you were the drink whose taste I had not known for months. How silly of me to press my lips to the glass, filled pink as your cheeks, and pretend it to be you. Kiss it, like it might not kill me.

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Day 356

Am I more myself alone. With no showmanship to guide me, no mask to hide me. When I paint for hours, lost in the muddy haze, That where you find me, reduced to nothing but brush strokes, calculated and chaotic. Is ever piece I give you just one more lost part of me, or is it simply an extension, another beating heart?

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Day 355

Is it that I hold you in my heart or in high esteem? I could never guess at such things, let emotion escape me again and choose instead to wade in these uncertain waters.

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Day 354

Have I confused misfortune with artistry now that the love comes in place of punctuation? Is it right now to claim I am undone when words only in praise of you have slipped from my fingers made their way to the page and forcibly pinned my heart, still raw, upon my sleeve? Do I hold faith in love or love lost, And do I dare wish it?

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Day 353

Is it fair to let yourself forget? To stop comparing his mistakes to anyone who would dare come after? Have I learned enough?

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Day 352

But who kisses who when lips meet skin, meeting where the other is? Does it matter?

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Day 351

There is a poem I read every day before work and it is plastered on the 6 train, hung in nearly every car. And I think of how I’d only wrote of Adam because I had not considered Eve had any voice. But now I see where I went wrong, in lines of poetry or song, literature and computer screen. The question is not how he loved her, but how she so loved the world and gave it life in the form of sound, in the form of her voice.

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Day 350

I am jealous of the blue jays by the pine tree playing in the snow. I have not yet decided why