I have been writing letters to amend our silence.
Stanzas rush in.
They foam, glisten
and slide back away
before I have time to learn
how not to fear their cold kisses.

I begin to say farewell to them
before they retreat back into that
pregnant ocean.

I am brimming.
Churning with unnamed wishes
that I want to whisper into the ear
of a future lover.

I agree to hold my tongue.
I take on the practice of not needing.
Was it only last year that I begged for passion,
that I asked for some precise incision.

I must atone for each need that I forced into silence
to continue to prove my worth to you.
Each self betrayal rushes back in in waves
to depict clearly how easily I will abandon myself.

There is no need
only an impossible dream.
While I was practicing muteness
you kept yourself pleasantly distracted.
Every day you were not fully present
was an abandonment.
There will be no further instruction.

I wanted to name it a great love.
I wanted to win his affection.
It was only an exercise
of excavation,
of turning the self inside out.

An exercise of learning
the faint distinctions
between longing,
numbness,
and heart break.

I prefer melancholy.

I now understand why lost love
is a tale of trauma
rewritten again and again.

And I listen.

I am listening.

msc

 

visual artist unknown

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