There was a part of me I've kept. A distinct marking, a scar.
I told myself for some time, that it'd be healed. It'd be faint with months, I told myself.
Months passed, and everything was withstanding.
I didn't have a word for such nostalgia. It was more than a longing. More than a tainted want.
It was utter misery, and lack of self idenitiy.
Don't get me wrong
some
days
I don't
remember.
those days
keep
me
alive.
But sometimes, it hits me with a force
I did not know a human body could withstand.
I didn't know you could feel this way.
I didn't know you could be empty this way, yet feel
so full
with this mess.
This mess. My mess. Your mess.
Our mess.
My mind stencled in reasons, whys and hows
but no conclusion came foward
beside a vison of your face, full detail
things I thought my brain forgot,
things I thought didn't exist when you were gone.
I am non existant. I am nothing. I am everything.
My lack of meaning has given me meaning.
They say emptiness still leaves a space.
They also say life moves on.
Who are they and why do they say these things?
Dear Goddess Epona
Pinprick on my finger
when it's pricking my finger
does my brain only know till after?
The past is knowing.
It is not the past until we know it happend
therefore
we
are
completely
and utterly
oblvious.