I Miss

I miss the illusion of being in love with you.

It felt so real.

Something to hold on to,

Something to hope for.

I am, now, left only with the ashes of a dream.

When you were my fake mine, I could imagine your seed in my arms,

Your ring on my finger.

Your wife.

Now am I left with white noise,

Static has replaced the impassioned symphony of love,

That flashed and danced in my heart at the sight of you.

No stutter to my hearts beat that I can acknowledge.

My eyes following you are the actions of a fool.

You want them, while I want only you.

While I waited to be the joy you enjoyed,

You were still discovering new joys.

While I waited, you moved on, until I didn’t remember what I was waiting on.

Didn’t remember until I stopped waiting.

Now waiting is longing.

Longing is pain.

Empty is agony.

Sometimes when it hurts so deep

I feel like I’m swimming in a sea of my own blood.

When lonely is my only lover.

I think to take that random fuck buddy to my bed.

Hoping that in the driving of his body into mine,

I can drive you out.

Purge your love from my heart.

Instead I close my eyes, your name on my lips.

Eyes closed I see only you.

The body I don’t remember is yours.

When it’s over, I’m left with tears and reality.

True knowledge that he isn’t and never will be you.

His scent not yours,

His touch pale and revolting in comparison to what we were.

I try to pull reality in as a comfort.

The truth that if man should choose,

You have yet to choose me, alone.

I swaddle myself in reality.

Roll around in it until it’s scent coats me.

Hold tight to the ends when love waits to rip it away,

Pull it from my grasp.

Wrapped in the thin sheet of reality,

My heart still seeks the hearth of your heart.

I was never so warm as when I was wrapped up in you.

Never as secure.

I miss my illusion.

Miss the eyes of my lie.

The kiss of his lips, the strength of his arms.

Fuck pride!

No, you fuck with self respect.

I feel torn between begging for scraps when I deserve a 5 star meal.

Torn to give you anything when I’m only receiving some things.

The brutal truth,

The pain of being with you makes these feelings like a picnic.

I’m back to square one,

Back to letting go of my love.

Somehow reality doesn’t seem so cold and unfulfilling.

I can accept how I feel for you.

I accept that it’s not meant.

I can do what I must to survive.

If the depth of that love pops up and makes me miss,

Hopefully, I can process my way through before I dial your number.

Before I offer the left side of my bed in exchange for your leftovers.

©Pamela Shropshire 2011