No More

I don’t really write about you anymore. I take this as a good sign.
For me, writing is relevance and you are no longer,
except in hindsight.
What remains;
gratitude for lessons learned,
thankfulness for growth,
relief that I am done hurting
about you.

Today is your birthday.

Although it means nothing today,
of course it is remembered
because I spent so many years
looking for ways to make it special,
making sure I remembered it was the 18^th.
(not the 15^th as my mathematical brain attempted to imprint)
Looking for ways to win you over,
bring you closer,
bring you home.
Thank heavens you never
came home for long.

Fits and starts,

ecstasy and anguish,
off and on,
again and again.
We tried to be us so many times
over the better part of a decade
(or two and a half depending on how you define ground zero)
that I lost count.

After nearly four years of silence

you called out of the blue.
There were exactly
three possible reasons;
one ~ someone had died
two ~ someone was sick and might die.
three ~ you were checking the forecast
to see if I’d open the door
and you could pretend you’d beat it down
to get to me.

You always said that

had you known how I felt,
you’d have beaten the door down to get to me.
The thing is, you did know.
you knew and yet
my door remained unscathed.
I, on the other hand,
bore more scars than I care count;
a nervous tic at the sight of your name,
a cannon ball sized hole in the center of my belly,
a heart torn in two,
the well of my plenty poisoned
so any invaders would be sickened
and diminished in strength.
Time heals though
and the well of my plenty is full again
and crystal clear.

Your voice coming through the phone

was like sandpaper against my cheek,
fingernails on a chalkboard,
the screech of a train derailing.
As if that wasn’t enough,
there were your words.
Instead of dripping with honey,
as I remembered,
they stung like battery acid,
peeling a layer of flesh off you
and I saw the ugly of you,
perhaps for the first time.

Upon ending that conversation,

not only was the well of my plenty clean and clear,
but in being baptized
by the scald of your spite,
I was too.
 
~ Mk Michaels, 2014