I’ve been reaved of the warmth in the folds of this old bed. And cold has slipped into the fibers and made itself a home. I used to miss the lasting heat from her lungs and her heart and her blood and her sweat, but I find I am comforted by its absence now. When I awake and lay my arm across the space where once was love, I am touched by nothing and the fever of sleep drifts quietly away. Once haunted by the emptiness, now encompassed by the quiet.
And lately I’ve been walking, in the space before the morning, with my eyes shut and my feet laid bare. They tell me I’ve been singing your name like a sonnet on a stage, that my cadence gave it glory in the blue before the day. They told me my voice was cracked, and rougher than the pavement, but there was beauty in what my dreams had to say. And I awake to find myself in view of birds, and they sing their songs as if nothing had changed.
I spend my days remembering our half life, and our molecular decay. Where our lips lost skin and my tongue ripped and frayed. But I remember only the things that seemed beautiful from afar, and you still look gorgeous from that far away. Then I put you under glass, and up close I can see the cracks with nothing to say. With all the heart I left in you, I find none of yours in me. I think you became so much more a wolf than any dog left to stray. And I convince myself that we’ll fix each other again someday.
What colors did you wear on the last night we dreamt in fits? Who held the name that was always on your lips? My mouth was filled with fog, my lungs were bellows and smoke. The room in which we slept was the church that housed the wake, the funeral for the last moment you caused my hands to shake. And I miss you and I miss the warmth in my bed, but I’ll find other places where my heart can be easily led.
There’s someone across the sea, and her hair will take with the sun. She’ll laugh and we’ll sing, and I’ll find her, I’ll search until the search is done. I’ve seen her face, I know her name, but it’s only the beginning of how I’ll be saved. And in the winter I’ll fold my arm under her head, and that part of the bed will be warm once again, and I’ll be across the ocean instead.
I’d throw a message in a bottle towards the tide and pray it sails its way to her, finds its way to the rainy shore, and moves her heart to stir.