Running Stitches

In All Ways

This goes out to someone who broke my heart.

You wondered three months ago when the last time it was that I wrote. In all honesty, it has been about a year. Maybe longer.

The reason why I had taken a hiatus was because the journey of Yellow Bird had become just a little too traumatic to relive. You told me that was the point, to rip off the bandaids of the past and let the wounds bleed through the ink. To tell my story to first the paper, before the eyes of anyone else laid upon it. This is why it is a rough draft. It needs warm days and cool, long nights under the moon to age, to incubate, to evolve, to be revised through the altering of ones own mind, thought process, the recalling of information that may be too heavy to face at once.

However, in the most vulnerable state that the draft was in at the time, it was the eyes that so closely resembled my own, those familiar, sad, distant eyes that were among the first to travel with me back in time, to when the scars were first placed against my soul, my flesh.

That was when I knew. I allowed you into that part of me. The darkest, most sacred and hidden places. That was when I knew that you were someone destined to be in my life for a very significant reason...though, admittedly, I still do not know what exactly that reason is. I trusted you with my past, I shared with you my present and I saw with you, a future.

You asked me to make time to write again because it was my way of expressing my innermost thoughts and a deeper understanding of the plethora of other emotions that circulate through the waves of my existence. You are correct.

And so, I am writing now.

In one of the initial days that you and I spent time in one another's physical presence, I cried. You woke me up from a certain slumber I did not realize I was in until you kissed my souI with the wisdom that only a rootless wanderer can illustrate. My mind was challenged and set to fire as if you had taken friction to a piece of flint and flicked it at the tinder built from the parts of me that had fallen dry and brittle. Fire is cleansing, it renews the land and restores it to a fresh place where new can grow once the ash settles into the earth.

I remember you once told me that fireworks were something that were fleeting; they came, they lit up the night sky and then they descended to the ground. Tiny burning embers that fate would will to eventually always burn out. You expressed to me that I was much more than fireworks to you. You said I was infinite, an eternal light in a dark sky that you were drawn to. An embrace that you could not break free from. A radiance and warmth that you were entangled in.

You told me that you wanted to shake the hand of the one who had created me, this exquisite and soft human being that had brought profound meaning to your life. "A summoning" as you called it. To you, I added integral and intrinsic value to your life. I believed that. I believed you when you said it would forever haunt you if somewhere along the way you failed and had to live with the loss of me. You said you were afraid of that...but are you?

Your career is demanding. I understand and can respect that. But to what extent are those demands worth the defeat when it comes to risking interpersonal relationships? I am not going to beg for your attention, however, I also will not allow myself to hurt over such a profound lack of communication. I am hurting. I have expressed that to you now multiple times. You acknowledged, agreed and made an effort...but only for but a few days. And then, that effort falls to the wayside again, your enthusiasm to be apart of my life, of our relationship, seems to easily burn out like the fires in the sky on the 4th of July.

You asked me not to assume your emotions. How do you expect me to respect that wish when you consciously leave me watching and waiting for you, face pressed against cool glass, never knowing if you will arrive at my window. I cannot comprehend how, out of 24 hours in a day, that I am not important enough to you to reach out. That speaks volumes to me of where I stand in your life. That is not me assuming your emotions. That is instinctual. I am not mindless. I realize when I am not a priority in someone's life.

If I have not made it clear to you how I feel about you, then I suppose I must be a failure in my own right, but, I do not believe I have made you feel inferior in our time together. I reach out every day to let you know you're on my mind, to let you know how the absence you of your presence is so heavily felt by my soul. Loving someone, anyone, should not hurt, it should not be forced, it should not leave a person to contemplate their place in another persons world. Right now, I am trying to decipher whether or not I should trust that this was ever something as hypnagogic as perceived. I wish I knew. I know what felt real to me. However, I also know that I do tend to place a considerable amount of energy where it drains me of life before it does of someone who does not hope and dream the way that I do. I considered that perhaps I had misunderstood you...but then I realized that was not the case. I heard you, I felt you and my interpretations of what you have said to me have always been at face value. I think it was you who misunderstood the depth to which I found your existence so incredibly entrancing, because you brought me to that place with your words. You knew what was transpiring between us.

I have become cognizant in the past few weeks that a moment is there, and then it is gone. Like fireworks. They do not last, it is impossible for them to hang in the ether like the stars you so carefully placed in the sky for me to gaze upon. Maybe you did not realize that even stars sometimes fall. And fireworks are not everlasting, they are not infinite like you chronicled when it came to me. The warmth eventually fades, the glow of a colorful and richly detailed world that you once described has, for me, turned gray and damp with confusion and grievance.

I think I now understand the true meaning of the phrase, "Actions speak louder than words," on a much more abyssal level.

You know where to find me, should you need me.

In All Ways.