I miss hearing you tell me I am beautiful. You would tell me when I groggily woke up to you bashfully watching me. You would tell me when I got out of the shower and you would steal my towel making me chase you, dripping wet. You would tell me when I was in jeans, a t-shirt, glasses, and a dirty ponytail – stressed out in front of my computer. You would tell me on our walk to the car after a hot yoga class, my clothes seeping in sweat. You would tell me after I spent ninety-minutes getting ready for a date with you – in a new dress, fresh lipstick, high heels, and perfume. You would tell me when I would slip into something silk and lacy for you at the end of a long day. You would whisper it again as you stroke my cheek, playfully smack my behind, and then follow it up with a kiss that said it all over again, but without words. You would tell me when I was asleep and could only hear you through the echo of my dreams.
I didn't know much I wanted to hear the words until I stopped hearing them. You spoiled me. And now I try extra hard to look beautiful so I can say it to my reflection and believe myself. It's not a question of low self-esteem or seeking attention – I had just gotten so used to your compliments, to be stripped of them is a shock to my system. It makes me feel needy. A few nights ago, a friend told me that I looked beautiful. And then she said it again in different words, and then again. It was only on the third iteration that I realized it was because she actually meant it. My skin is so thick that maybe it won't let love in, or maybe it lets it in too easily. Hearing those words made my heart open up a little bit and let some love in and out. It also triggered how much I missed it coming from you, in your voice. It reminded me that while the words were soothing to my mind, my lips ache to be kissed and my skin begs for the weight of your body on top of me.
I miss that I could read your mind through the look in your eyes. Our souls shared the sixth sense. And if I couldn't read you, you would tell me what you were thinking without me needing to ask. And you were always thinking about something just so fantastic. You put everything out on the table. No questions. No holding back. No doubts. No games. You allowed yourself to be entirely vulnerable. You allowed yourself to love completely. You allowed yourself to be fully loved. I let you move into my heart. But now, it's been vacated. The love remains, but you aren't there to bask in it. Before, my love was weightless, but now it's heavy. Where does the love end and the baggage begin?
I miss you making me laugh. Laughter is the language of love. It echos across wide open spaces. It bounces across big-city buildings. It sweeps into canyons and valleys, lifting the fog. It defeats hatred. Laughter makes us kind. Kindness breeds love. And love is the triumph. So now I am attempting to juggle all this love. But, I never learned how to juggle. You knew how, but you never had a chance to teach me. I can't drop this ball; it's far too sacred.
I miss empty space with you: the few moments when we had
nothing to do except just be. You knew how to dress up boredom in a
glittery costume. Now, boredom and loneliness go hand-in-hand. When
space isn't filled up with some distraction, it's a reminder that I am
without you by my side. I am alone. Distraction overshadows the voices in my head reminding me that I am not OK. So now, I avoid silence. It's a trigger for how different it all is now, how confused I am, how quickly everything has changed, how it will never be like it was, and how happenstance can override all plans.
I miss your love: your unique strain of love. Love is like DNA. There is
no carbon copy. There is no love that is the same as another love.
That's one of the most beautiful things about love, but it's also one of
the most painful. Love is both limitless and irreplaceable at the same
time. But damn. Your love was divine. It's as if we were both made of
pure love as individuals, but when we came together it became an
offering to the Universe. Our love was a beacon.
Showing posts with label miss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miss. Show all posts
Dust
The loneliest moment is right before I fall asleep. When I'm laying in the silence trying to pass into my dream world, everything gets very still. Stillness is hard for me, as you know. It's in stillness that I miss you the most.
I miss your warm body next to mine as we drifted off. If I was having trouble getting to sleep, I could rock to my side and snuggle into you. You, even in your unconscious, would murmur love and nestle in closer to me too. It was there, in that cocoon, when sleep would come. And if it didn't, it was ok, because I could just breath you.
Now, the path towards sleep is lonely. It's when I really, really cry. It's when I feel incredibly helpless. It's when the world feels very small, only as big as my body curled alone on a mattress. Alone. There is no you to spoon me. There is no ear to whisper love into. There is no body to arouse. There is no conversation to distract me. There is no excitement for the morning. There are no dreams to share. There is only the hope of sleep to distract me from the pain of waking. There are only tears.
I am trying to focus on the world's bigness. I am trying to focus on the light. I'm trying to show myself that while you are not here, there is so much else that IS here. I am searching for beauty in what is, while cherishing the memory of what is not.
A few months ago, we pulled up to the Burning Man Temple on our scooter. Kevin parked his bicycle behind us. The Temple is a spiritual, solemn, and sacred space for memorials, reflection, and commemorations of life transitions. Visiting the Temple is a stark contrast to experiencing the rest of the city. It was Friday. We had been on the Playa for five days already and were worn out. We were dusty and emotional. We locked up to the perimeter of the Temple of Grace and took deep breaths. We knew this was going to be hard.
It was dusk and a dust storm was setting in. As we entered the walls of the Temple, a whiteout prevented us from seeing anything outside. We all split up. I walked to the left, you went straight, Kevin headed right. The sacred area was full of grieving Burners. People who were broken. People who had loved and lost. The muffled sound of sobs filled the space like a soundtrack. My own tears came immediately. I grieved for my grandmother, who I'd lost a few months prior. I grieved because I knew you were grieving for Sarah, for Jane, and for the world. I grieved because I thought of Kevin's grief for his struggling nephew and his late father. I grieved for the sadness in everyone. The resonance of suffering made my heart throb and my throat tighten. For all the love I have in my heart, the suffering in the Universe is its equal, I thought.
I read the notes that were inscribed on every single beam of wood of the structure: a wallpaper of Sharpie'd messages. I read quotes. I read love notes. I read prayers. I saw altars constructed of memorabilia and soul. I saw photos adhered to the walls of people who had left this world for another dimension. I looked into their two dimensional eyes and offered them peace. I saw sorrow. I saw ashes of a friend who should have been there. I saw grandparents that had lived out their days fully. I saw a mother who died before her child could offer her an apology. I saw a father who was also a best friend. I saw a husband who would never get to meet his unborn child. I saw children who had never been able to take a breath in this lifetime. I saw soldiers who never made it home from war. I saw pets that had run into traffic. I saw tragedy. I saw accidents. I saw addiction that morphed innocence into helplessness. I saw fifty thousand names and offerings. I saw compassion. I saw effigies. I saw offerings. I saw religion. I saw art. I saw love. I saw a carpet of sorrowful tears.
I inscribed my own tributes to the walls. I wrote a note to my grandmother. I wrote a note to your friend Sarah, who I had never met. I wrote a note to humanity. 'Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu – May all beings everywhere be happy and free, and may the thoughts, words, and actions of my own life contribute in some way to that happiness and to that freedom for all.'
I found you and Kevin somewhere amidst the chorus of sobs, each of us uniquely contributing to the refrain. You and I embraced, chests heaving with sorrowful weeping. Kevin joined the hug. The three of us stood there for a long time, holding space for suffering. Eventually, we left the Temple. The ride back to our camp was quiet. We honored the mourning.
The three of us gathered again on Sunday night to watch the Temple of Grace burn, an effigy of light and heat. It's a silent burn. Tens of thousands of people stand in stillness and watch the offering. Weeping is generally the only sound you hear. Every so often, a broken heart will longingly cry out, "Mom...," "I miss you dad...," "I love you...".
I love you, Ted. I miss you, Ted. I miss you all of the time. But I especially miss you in the stillness, when movement can't distract me. I especially miss you in the night, when the sun can't illuminate the beauty of what is still here. I miss you when I am caught in between waking and sleeping and all I want is to reach out and embrace my soul mate. I miss you so much.
I miss your warm body next to mine as we drifted off. If I was having trouble getting to sleep, I could rock to my side and snuggle into you. You, even in your unconscious, would murmur love and nestle in closer to me too. It was there, in that cocoon, when sleep would come. And if it didn't, it was ok, because I could just breath you.
Now, the path towards sleep is lonely. It's when I really, really cry. It's when I feel incredibly helpless. It's when the world feels very small, only as big as my body curled alone on a mattress. Alone. There is no you to spoon me. There is no ear to whisper love into. There is no body to arouse. There is no conversation to distract me. There is no excitement for the morning. There are no dreams to share. There is only the hope of sleep to distract me from the pain of waking. There are only tears.
I am trying to focus on the world's bigness. I am trying to focus on the light. I'm trying to show myself that while you are not here, there is so much else that IS here. I am searching for beauty in what is, while cherishing the memory of what is not.
A few months ago, we pulled up to the Burning Man Temple on our scooter. Kevin parked his bicycle behind us. The Temple is a spiritual, solemn, and sacred space for memorials, reflection, and commemorations of life transitions. Visiting the Temple is a stark contrast to experiencing the rest of the city. It was Friday. We had been on the Playa for five days already and were worn out. We were dusty and emotional. We locked up to the perimeter of the Temple of Grace and took deep breaths. We knew this was going to be hard.
It was dusk and a dust storm was setting in. As we entered the walls of the Temple, a whiteout prevented us from seeing anything outside. We all split up. I walked to the left, you went straight, Kevin headed right. The sacred area was full of grieving Burners. People who were broken. People who had loved and lost. The muffled sound of sobs filled the space like a soundtrack. My own tears came immediately. I grieved for my grandmother, who I'd lost a few months prior. I grieved because I knew you were grieving for Sarah, for Jane, and for the world. I grieved because I thought of Kevin's grief for his struggling nephew and his late father. I grieved for the sadness in everyone. The resonance of suffering made my heart throb and my throat tighten. For all the love I have in my heart, the suffering in the Universe is its equal, I thought.
I read the notes that were inscribed on every single beam of wood of the structure: a wallpaper of Sharpie'd messages. I read quotes. I read love notes. I read prayers. I saw altars constructed of memorabilia and soul. I saw photos adhered to the walls of people who had left this world for another dimension. I looked into their two dimensional eyes and offered them peace. I saw sorrow. I saw ashes of a friend who should have been there. I saw grandparents that had lived out their days fully. I saw a mother who died before her child could offer her an apology. I saw a father who was also a best friend. I saw a husband who would never get to meet his unborn child. I saw children who had never been able to take a breath in this lifetime. I saw soldiers who never made it home from war. I saw pets that had run into traffic. I saw tragedy. I saw accidents. I saw addiction that morphed innocence into helplessness. I saw fifty thousand names and offerings. I saw compassion. I saw effigies. I saw offerings. I saw religion. I saw art. I saw love. I saw a carpet of sorrowful tears.
I inscribed my own tributes to the walls. I wrote a note to my grandmother. I wrote a note to your friend Sarah, who I had never met. I wrote a note to humanity. 'Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu – May all beings everywhere be happy and free, and may the thoughts, words, and actions of my own life contribute in some way to that happiness and to that freedom for all.'
I found you and Kevin somewhere amidst the chorus of sobs, each of us uniquely contributing to the refrain. You and I embraced, chests heaving with sorrowful weeping. Kevin joined the hug. The three of us stood there for a long time, holding space for suffering. Eventually, we left the Temple. The ride back to our camp was quiet. We honored the mourning.
The three of us gathered again on Sunday night to watch the Temple of Grace burn, an effigy of light and heat. It's a silent burn. Tens of thousands of people stand in stillness and watch the offering. Weeping is generally the only sound you hear. Every so often, a broken heart will longingly cry out, "Mom...," "I miss you dad...," "I love you...".
I love you, Ted. I miss you, Ted. I miss you all of the time. But I especially miss you in the stillness, when movement can't distract me. I especially miss you in the night, when the sun can't illuminate the beauty of what is still here. I miss you when I am caught in between waking and sleeping and all I want is to reach out and embrace my soul mate. I miss you so much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)