Love letter # 488
It’s ridiculous really. Because trying not to think about you is thinking about you. Making out I no longer care is caring with all my heart.
I have tried to cut you out – to surgically remove the million traces you have left inside me – but perhaps all I have succeeded in doing is creating a bunch of tell-tale scar tissue. Ridges on my skin. Ghosts in my thinking. The tower of my denial is now the temple of your presence. Or is that absence? Maybe now they are the same.
I pushed you away to save myself from breaking – but in your wake I have mended out of shape. Bones with cracks. Dreams with caveats. I was afraid I might crumble before your eyes – that you would think me a fool for doing so. Now I simply carry the dust around with me. Ever heavier. The quiet, desiccation of a flower I was too scared to water with sorrow.