I never loved anyone the way I loved you, and it damn near broke me. There’s some kind of hole where that piece of myself I gave you used to be. I know I’m better off with her but sometimes, I miss her innocence.
About once a year now I find myself there. It takes me a while to recognize it because I’ve tried to intentionally and unintentionally not remember the path here. To allow mother nature to take over and hide the way because I refuse to use it…. But for the far and few times I make it here now, I find myself skimming the edges of the charred forest where we once tried to grow things. It’s still black, never grew back. Scarred. When I walk the edge of this land, I can’t tell if I’m revisiting it to try and remember the touch of my hand holding your face or your smile that shot a thousand stars into my night sky, or if I’m coming there to remind myself that I never want to feel that way again. So much good on the surface so much pain on the other side. When I trace this line of land with my bare feet and navigate this flood of emotions and skewed memories, many I think I’ve forgotten, or hoped to, I swear I feel the heat under the ground. Little embers waiting to turn ablaze and burn again. But I like greenery, and I want to protect that that which remains here. So, I try to not acknowledge their existence too much as I pebble along waiting to be drawn away from this dark place again. Eventually, I seem to always choose that.
Every unturned rock within ourselves turned into a landmine for the other. we were trying to navigate through the explosions in real time. A hole within me became a bruising on you. A beating wound within you became scars on me.
I wish I was there with you. I found your hand when we started into the woods. Held it tight. Held it dearly. But I didn’t know you were running to the fall. I couldn’t pull myself from planting the roses I thought were for us. When I looked up you were gone. I ran and ran, tears and branches wiping my face. I followed the small voice I heard in the wind, out to the other side. It was your’s… calling from the bottom of the basin. You had already jumped, not realizing the only way down for me was if I went with you. I wish I had been there. I wish.
Sometimes I still think I hear you down there.