Life Without You

Are you there? Do you think of me? It’s been so long and I’ve been so empty. Not sure if you ever think of me anymore. Or if you ever did? 

Wish the clock would turn back. Wish that I could turn a different corner. . .So I could do many things over. This is why I write. This is why visit many places. This is why I go. I imagine what it would like to be with you. I look back and review chances long missed. 

 

There are surrogates now, but they are not you. They will never be you. Just company until the time pass. 

This feels like such a long wait. A long absence. My color is blue for all the things I’ve done and failed to do. These are why I continue. Hoping some time that you will forgive me and salve this unhealing wound.

I run round all over town thinking about you.  Time seems so slow. When I imagine times with you, I try to stay there. Forever. Forever to be with you. Life is so different without you. Out of place is how I feel.  So . . .Asynchronous.  Out of step. . .out of place. . .out of time. 

 

 My hands are cupped with the particles of sand. I try desperately to hold on, but I feel them slipping away. I can feel each tiny particle fall so quickly. Each one lost makes my heart race faster and faster. Stricken by this anxiety that I can’t hold on. This acknowledgment that moment is building and arresting this departure is feeble. Still I try, I see no other way.  

 There is purpose to this. I know this to be true. Its just escapes me. It’s a mystery to me. Yes, I do trust in the universe. No, I haven’t lost Hope.  I just wonder if you are there and if you think of me. 

My face is contorted in unrest. A physical setback changed me a couple years back. I am pained awake and know this shook the foundation of my faculties. An awakening to my spiritual side has brought much change in me, but it still hasn’t filled the void inside me that is you. Talks with your mother some time ago said your interest was in art. So I immerse myself in visiting the Getty, LACMA, MOCA. I take photos, write posts, look at paintings, marvel at statues. I do what I think may be artistic.

Still, these are feeble attempts to connect. To feel a part of your life. My external drives are filled with pictures and photos of museums I’ve visited.  Pondered changing lifestyle in pursuit of this artist way, but I know this a just to a substitute to being close to you.

A few days ago, I stayed up all night. Watched a meteor shower, hoping that my wishes come true. They are of you. Fifty, I counted. They were my wish that things were different. My wishes were for you and to those I love. My wishes were to go back in time and turn a different corner. My wishes were. . .Well, anyways. The day is ahead and all I can do right now is to fight this ennui, shooting arrows at the night. Hoping upon hope that I will find some reprieve from this prison of emptiness.