I wonder how many attempts this will actually be, for me to somehow reach others through my writing. Honestly, who isn’t trying to do the very same thing, using this very same method?
I have sat and wrote in my journal, scribbled, voice recorded my way through countless moments, thoughts, ideas etc.. Always trying to string these things together through carefully chosen words to hopefully say what I want to say. It just seem like I am unable to organize, create and finalize a masterpiece of words. I’m not even sure I’m truly ever going to be able to do those things.
But, oh how I want to.
How I long to put all of my pain into words, to put all of my passion into words, to put all of my chaotic thoughts into words…and have someone (who am I kidding…people) tell me that I am good, at something that truly haunts me. Nothing can ease the feeling of being haunted:
How could you return all the pieces of me
of us… in a box,
compartmentalized and lined
with ugly brown felt.
Your gift was no gift at all
it hurts to recall
My words, my thoughts, my love:
let go of.
It must have felt freeing
for the time being
to return me, to let me go, to leave me,
I hope I left a scar
I hope I come to you in the quiet moments of your day
a fleeting thought you just can’t put away.
I hope you smell my sweet breath, hear my distant voice,
upon the air around your choice
I hope I haunt you