Finite
I have always held to the idea that this is finite,
That there was an end.
How unfortunate it is that everyday seems to prove that theory wrong.
-H
March 21, 2021
I don't recognize her
It used to feel a lot more personal. I would recount the days in the beginning when I lost you, The days in the middle when I wasn't sure if I had you, And there would be a plunder in the middle of my chest. I could remember my fingers itching for a bottle, My head spinning with calculated assumptions, My heart falling to the pit of the stomach. I used to see it through her eyes - my eyes. I try to mentally revisit those days - Remember when the epitome of my existence was you, When all I wanted was to call those arms my home. But I can't. They feel like stolen memories. She doesn't even feel like me. Instead of looking through my eyes, I am looking through a mirrored window, My soul watching my body take on the actions of another person. Is this what falling out of love is like? -H July 5, 2023
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