Missing
Monday, January 24th, 2011
It’s the time of night when everyone is a little lonely. The smooth jazz plays over cooling coffee while my books sit aloft. The rap and tap of rain sings in rhythm while my cigarette burns bright, and I find myself missing you.
What do we do when love is gone? We scratch, thrash and lunge about trying to build ourselves anew. Every destructive impulse of man can be found among this reconstructive raucous as we tear down and remodel, birth and demolish. We are Shiva wedged under Kali’s flailing arms, and no piece comes without its price.
When two people entwine their lives, untying knots is always the hardest part. Ridding, removing and reconciling loss are guaranteed to hurt. Every faded picture, dusty memento and scrap of the other is rent across raw skin seething, burning from within.
But healthy relationships aren’t meant to end, and the nagging truth of knowing it’s all for the best might be the most disappointing part.
She was everything. I made her that and built all the now-fallen walls around us. It’s something I must own, hold and never let go. My ruined city is slowly coming back together. The bricks won’t go back the way they used to, and I know I couldn’t make them fit if I tried. For everything I’ve lost, some new gain must be made. Possibility is a perfect parting gift, and what is made here will have to weather a while. It’s my duty to keep building until nothing is missing and nothing can be taken.
This is the night in which I’ve awoken in the life I’ve made. It’s not too bad here among the lonely jazz and benevolent brew awaiting my lips’ return. The soft whisper of longing concern for some unforeseen connection still holds my wakefulness, but I would try to sleep if this night seemed like it could hold a few dreams.
It’s the time of night when everyone is a little lonely. The smooth jazz plays over cooling coffee while my books sit aloft. The rap and tap of rain sings in rhythm while my cigarette burns bright, and I find myself missing you.
What do we do when love is gone? We scratch, thrash and lunge about trying to build ourselves anew. Every destructive impulse of man can be found among this reconstructive raucous as we tear down and remodel, birth and demolish. We are Shiva wedged under Kali’s flailing arms, and no piece comes without its price.
When two people entwine their lives, untying knots is always the hardest part. Ridding, removing and reconciling loss are guaranteed to hurt. Every faded picture, dusty memento and scrap of the other is rent across raw skin seething, burning from within.
But healthy relationships aren’t meant to end, and the nagging truth of knowing it’s all for the best might be the most disappointing part.
She was everything. I made her that and built all the now-fallen walls around us. It’s something I must own, hold and never let go. My ruined city is slowly coming back together. The bricks won’t go back the way they used to, and I know I couldn’t make them fit if I tried. For everything I’ve lost, some new gain must be made. Possibility is a perfect parting gift, and what is made here will have to weather a while. It’s my duty to keep building until nothing is missing and nothing can be taken.
This is the night in which I’ve awoken in the life I’ve made. It’s not too bad here among the lonely jazz and benevolent brew awaiting my lips’ return. The soft whisper of longing concern for some unforeseen connection still holds my wakefulness, but I would try to sleep if this night seemed like it could hold a few dreams.
