Tell the moon you miss me
It will echoe across the stars
Towards a distant universe where we don’t live apart.
There they will dream little day dreams of the love that lays dormant in our hearts,
In the meanwhile, if we were to stare at the moon tonight We’ll be bathed under the same light, together yet apart.
I seemed to have become accustomed to the distorted belief
one should fall in love alone,
As if my heart is only awakened by spiritual distance.
I am a defensive lover.
I must leave before I am left.
I’m indifferent to the prospect of needing another person.
But I am human.
All this flesh.
This beating heart.
I fall in love from a distance.
As an answer to the possibility of loving you up close.
This way I won’t hurt you and you can’t reject me.
I’m in control of my own heartbreak.
I played chess alone in a corner. I loved you from afar.
And when you don’t see my warmth because I hide it so well.
I break my own heart.
I belong to myself.
My heart has no name on it.
Not even my own.
I want to cry because there are things I want to tell you about the world .Things that I think about at night when I can’t sleep. I’ve been questioning the moon and her motives.Why does she float there stealing the light from the sun ? Watching the world like a guardian who doesn’t have the heart to tell is us we got the meaning of life wrong. I want to ask you about your life.
I want to ask you about your life. With no expectations or investigative curiosity, just a desire to understand you better .Learn your world and make sure you getting enough sun. Tell you that I’m happy for you if you found someone. I’ve been tapping my fingers on the phone trying to get myself to speak to you or accept the possibility that I should let go.
I feel an elephant on my lungs at night.I wanted to tell someone about it. Instead of writing experimental poetry that no one will read. It always seems to be doused in too many uses of the sea and drowning as metaphors for my existence. I’m shallow at best these days,I lack the depressive depth of Plath and Woolf.Without the smell of smoke, I fear I can’t muster up any creativity to write you an” existential essays” in the likes of Hemingway. But I’ve been holding out this hope that you might excuse my stupidity.There is this part of me that can’t shack the feeling that you are the only one who understands what I’m feeling.Like in some way we are connected in our understanding of the world. I wish to talk to you about it. Maybe say out loud to someone that I don’t want to leave the house these days.That I can’t wake up some mornings. That the glass wall seems to be up again.
Yet every time I try to start a conversation all i can muster is “hello” . When you ask how I am, I have this urge to lie and say “I’m good”. As if I’ll disappoint you if I’m depressed again .That maybe you will pull away from me if I let you in. I can’t risk having someone else tell me to be tough again.Or to be grateful or trust in God or be positive , give it your best shot. Because I’m scared. Being tough and strong doesn’t make it go away.These feelings don’t go away. It’s there when I close my eyes it’s there when I wake up.My life scares me some days ,t feels heavy most days. I don’t know how not to be sad about it yet.
Mostly , though, I miss you. You’ve seemed to have forgotten how much I’ve always missed you when you gone. I used to spend that energy on ensuring I remember how much you can upset me. But lately ,I remember the good only. Maybe all of this is a sign that something in my life is changing.
It’s midnight. You are probably sleeping. It’s stupid of me to want to write you letters .It’s stupid to think we are imprisoned by the same sky.