a tomb for my phone’s notes,
In the one hundred seventy one thousand, one hundred forty six words there are in the English dictionary,
in the one hundred seventy one thousand, one hundred forty six words and infinite possible ways to say,
I cannot form a combination to express this heartache.
In all the ways I can say I am hurting, I know I cannot because it is not enough to say I am hurt.
There are no adequate words to describe how I fall asleep at 5p.m. from mental exhaustion only to wake up at 2 a.m. surrounded by memories and regrets and echoes of our laughter and shadows of your silhouette. Unable to sleep, I lay down and have no choice but to surrender to the tomb of us and wallow at our memory — burred six feet under my slow beating heart.
There are no words, none, that could complete the unfinished notes I wrote in my phone’s notes app when love overpoured my heart and into the kisses I placed over your freckles.
Now, the love I have overpouring does not know where to go.
Your absence has become both stillness and an overwhelming sensation of grief.
There are no words, none, that could complete the unfinished notes I have on my phone. It feels wrong, almost, to attempt to finish what we started a few seasons ago. Confusion floods my mind and submerges me in a state of static, stillness, nothingness.
How do I grieve someone that is still alive? He’s gone, but I know what he’s doing every Thursday night. How do I miss his absence, and yet I know that on a Monday afternoon he is near my very house, playing soccer with his friends? It was me who brought him a water bottle as an excuse to see him, of course.
Timing’s everything, and like a wisp of wind, he was gone.
One hundred seventy one thousand, one hundred forty six words and yet,
I do not have the courage to finish my phone’s notes dedicated to you, so I guess they’ll stay as is.
“Love, it’s a strange yet powerful thing. Nothing more than a glance and nothing more than a
