Why do I keep writing about this pain?
I cannot stop feeling it.
Why do I not eschew puppies, unicorns, and roses?
I am not that disingenuous.

I know I was not alone.
A small army tried to find me.
A small army saved my life,
after I tried to take myself away.
I feel it, that I am pushing everyone away.
My words, as I say them, as I type them,
the razor-sharp edges slice through the ether.
Yet, they cut me first.
They knocked me off my feet.
They took the air from my solar plexus.
This harbinger of the black parts of my soul.
For every mistake, for every good deed.
The nexus of survival and living.
Maybe I do know it all already, like you have said.
Maybe I do not know anything, like you have said.
Is it me, am I still your joke?
It is me, of my faults, that I carry this yolk?
Why do you enjoy this?

Watching this good person, his brilliant mind, tear apart at the seams,
Were my friendships, was my family, really at the core of my life?
It’s hard to be able to believe, to have faith, to find that star-crossed love, when nothing is as it seems.

The paint is still fresh, as is the dew, as are the tears.
This ever-constant-state of mourning.
The knowing I must be wrong,
I must be too stupid to be right,
As this story, my life, my future is not, yet, gone.
Is his love, your love, and your love, too?
I want to run to you, all of you, but would it be hard?
I really do want to let these feelings subside.
I would love to see the sunshine outside.
I just don’t want to have to arm myself to feel safe.

Why does it seem SO VERY simple in my head, how we could get through this.

When it seems so very, tremendously, terrifyingly difficult to get through it all alone.

Without you, I lose traction.
Without you, I’m paralyzed with inaction.
Without you, there’s less of me,
Without you, to shine the light, I cannot see.
Without you, it will be what it will be.

Without you and me…

C’est la vie.

It is life, the way you wanted me.
It is life, the way you molded me.
It is life, the remains of a day.
it is life, one of as many more.

one-way, round trip, nomading, or just plant my final roots.
I miss being part of a crew, a community, a cohort, and in cahoots.

For all the words, here’s what I wanted to say.

Thank you.
To you, the small army who saved my life when I was left on my floor.
To you, whomever you were, who called when I collapsed on the street.
To you, who sat there silently, while I dangled my legs from that bridge.
To you, the other nameless / faceless individuals who acted in faith on my behalf.
To you, who helped me get off my face each time I’ve fallen there.
To you, who was with me almost every single night as I lost my mind before your very eyes.
To you, who at the last minute helped me save my stuff.
To you, and you, who once said you loved me.
And to you and you, who I regret not getting to know over my lifetime.
And to you, my many guardian angels, who have always watched over me, carried me to safety, and shielded me from myself.

Thank you, even in gratitude, is never enough to say.
All I can do is hope it’s enough to feel.
And that as you read these words you understand, I’ve always been the hopeful one, I just finally stopped letting people treat me like I’ve been treated.

Invisible, I now almost wish I could go back to being.
My eyes are open now, I just don’t know what I’m seeing.