Stripped of me is the love of my mortal life, and with him, my peace and rest and clarity. I’m bare now. I’m entirely without.
Trying to be okay at the moment is like dragging a ball and chain up to the surface of the ocean of my reality, but the reality is, I’m not okay, and no matter how hard I heave at my sunken happiness, she rests at the bottom of the darkened seabed of my expectations, along with my pillaged heart and my plundered hope.
He commandeered the ship of my life, and steered me into rocky, stormy waters.
He sunk me.
All of me is man-overboard, and he cant save me, because he can barely save himself.
I’m drowning in this more than I thought I could.
Because I’m so much weaker than I want to be.
Because I love him so much more than I knew I was able.
I spent all my love on him, and I would, and I would, and I would again – but now I’m empty.
I’m done. I’m sunk.
I used to think that I was before privy to the lusty sadness of rocks in pockets and watery graves – but I knew nothing of it.
The constant pain of trying and trying, and failing and failing and failing and failing, only superseded by the loss of hope.
He has steered me into the kind of love that I can’t recover from.
The sort of love I’ll always be in.
Because he’s the kind of person I won’t ever not miss.
Even at his worst.
And even when I’m drowning, and even when I can’t feel anything, especially not my toes..
I keep finding myself quietly begging that his shipwrecked soul would wash up on the shores of my bloody heart.