“Yes, I was infatuated with you; I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.”—fuckyeahsylviaplath
You are there, everywhere. And it seems impossible to escape the ghost of you. It haunts me, but it’s a pleasant haunting, I welcome it. I curl up with your ghost at night, looking for a way to bring him into my dreams. I try and link my day thoughts with my night ones, so that they turn into dreamthoughts. So that I am dreaming of you… You are with me always. I carry you in the front pocket of my mind, smiling as I walk around each day, with a lush, rosy veil of love. I love you.
It’s been three days since I’ve been away. I come home to the familiarity of my bed. I fall into it’s soft embrace. I chase my elusive memories for the scent of you, but already my nose has forgotten. My fingers twitch, trying to remember the feel of you. But there is nothing but emptiness. You’re in another world. One that barely makes contact with mine. I love you dear. It is so hard. To be so far. To be away. I want to go back to three days ago, when I listened to the beating of your heart, hidden under your blanket. I felt so safe, tucked away.
I do things to keep busy. Doing things. I wash, I knead, I sow. I listen, I whisper, I nod. I read books, I watch movies, I keep my hands busy. Glue this, hold that, twist this. I consume all manner of consumable things. Literature, music, pears. I write till my fingers ache, until the pencil is blunt. there are always words, there are always stories to tell. I try to forget. I try to loose my memory in the daily chaos of things. I fill up the emptyness with paper and plastic but they fall away and still I am empty.