A Month After

I have a little journal where I scribble every day. I count the days that have passed since I last saw you. It has been 31 days now, and a little less since I last texted you.

The intention of walking away from you has been waxing and waning from the moment I met you, but even a month ago when I saw you before you traveled on your latest mission it was still a half formed thought. It did not take shape fully until your birthday in mid-February. It has been a fight since then. Each day I struggle with the urge to text you. Every morning I wake up to your memory and every night I sleep with emptiness of grieving over you.

Last night I could not sleep. I managed to nod off long after midnight. I still cry a lot. I have you inside me, beneath my ribs, in the tiny space that separates my lungs from my bones. You let me know you are there by the stab of pain that stops my breath in broad daylight. Like the stitch I get while running. I am forced to stop everything and tread slowly until the pain passes. You also have a habit of grabbing my throat, choking me into a tearful halt. I struggle to swallow the grief that comes with memory.

Yet, I do not have any shared memories with you. It is just that part of me that you took with you when you left. It is horrible to love someone this much. My whole existence has turned into a shadow. I watch and take in the shimmering wet pearls of newly wet grass after the rain, the birds chirping around me, the bright blue or dark metallic sky viewed through the lacy leaves of African trees. I observe pairs of geese waddling around a green pool or gliding onto its silent waters. I see all these things, yet the color has drained out of everything for me. I see beauty with my eyes but not with my heart. My heart is forever lost wandering around with you, wherever you are.


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