the things we lose for love.

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 I used to be in love with one who chose the solitude of graceful silence. a gaze vacant of everything but the shimmering liveliness of celestial light. one who held it in reverent intimacy, who lied on the grass in restful contemplation and watched the complications of the constellations of mind glimmer in brokenness before them.

near light, when the sky awakens from its dimness, it’s him I remember. it’s him I see in every cloud and field. it’s all over now. still, some things just never leave.


I wonder if it was love all the time. I wonder what it all meant, what we understood in one timeless gaze. I wonder where this oneness came from, and why I trembled in his remembrance, the enormity of being held like this, unmatched.


perhaps in another eternal lifetime, this love. perhaps it would be different. nothing there would pull us apart. it would be a mirror of you in mine, an infinite kaleidoscope. perhaps the earthliness of this world has never known a love like ours.


at least knowing this, there’s no fear. a mournful melancholy, maybe. an embrace I dreamed of and never got— and so this space between my arms will always be haunted by the distance he never filled.


I love you was never enough. we always knew that, anyhow


I might move on. the broken fragility in my face a longing no one would understand, an inscrutable dream woven in the secrets of my eyes. an imprint I could always depend on to remember him by.


this loss can be filled in new ways, but a cold nostalgia shall always drench my insides, basking by the streams near mountains we’d dreamed to climb. and all the adventures waiting for me will be cracked by who should have been here. and it’s beautiful somehow, to have a heart beating for an entirely different dear someone. a smile that bewitches the outside with a mysterious shade of wonder, lacerated by a peace entwined with your secret, a smile shared quite unfairly that it ruins everything. some things they’ll never know.


and I’ll think of him tonight. and every night. even when I’m wrapped in another’s arms. even when I know well that this world of mine was made for him, for a different time.


oh, the thing we lose to know love.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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