i let the sun sink into me

There are so many questions that I’ll never receive answers to.

Did you always know that we were doomed? Why did you never leave, but why did you never stay? What would have happened if I was pregnant? Was it what you would have wanted, was it what you intended? What if I didn’t leave them, and what if I didn’t leave you?

Why did I come back? Why did I stay - for it to only hurt more? Can I say - “that’s what we were destined for? That’s how our story was meant to end?”

But are these words, these sentences - just placeholders? Like the final words and the final moments in dreams. They leave us with more questions than answers.

I let the park bench hold me, and I let the sun sink into me. Do you have the answers? I look around and ask.

There’s not a cloud in the sky.

My skin glistens with sunscreen, and one single Pearl sits perfectly still in the centre of my collarbone. I hold on to it.

I will be 32 next week. Do you still remember?

I don’t know if the people who understand me, ever actually understand me. Or if they will ever understand us.

4 vases. 2 of fresh lavender, one of roses, one of dried baby’s breath. It is my home. But where are you? You are nowhere to be found.

I don’t know if I ever stopped looking for you, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop looking for you. Do you look for me, too?

I used to want to know why. Why you did what you did. Why you were doing what you were doing. But a lot of things were never mine to carry. And she made sure of that, too.

Sometimes, I think about you every day. Then, I forget to think about you at all. A therapist told me that I hold on to grief so tightly because it is all I have left of you.

What do I mourn, exactly? What is our story? Was I supposed to save you? Would you have let me save you?

A story with no ending, one with no answers. Timing.

I blame every little thing that I’ve ever lost on you.

And I will still blame everyone when they cannot be you.