Kisses Left on Flashcards

I am stuck in an ache- stuck in a loop. 

I feel ashamed and self-conscious to say that I’m stuck but I am. 

Why does nobody talk about this? Why don’t we shed these tears? 

I miss being delusional. There were no thoughts. I didn’t have to worry about knowing something- anything. 

I was simply living life and having fun. 

I feel like I’m repeating my years. 

I am a child. I am distraught. I am alone. 

But I know love. I feel love. I remember love. 

What if things were different - this is what I still think about every night before I go to sleep. 

It gets better I say. Maybe for a day, I believe. Maybe just for a song, I still feel. 

But there’s this thing that I hold onto. 

This something that follows me everywhere. 

And although I’ve settled into this new season of life, I’ve realized I haven’t met all of me yet. 

Ugh. 

What a lovely and terrifying, aching and instilling thought all at the same time. 

I obsess over this often. The end results in me throwing my face into a pillow and kicking my feet up in the air. 

I also think about the people I haven’t spoken to in years. Months. Days. 

How these vibrant connections just dissipate. Unresolved grief shows up without notice. And I am left. All again

I  cannot stand this fact. I can't bear this reality. 

I’d like to write love letters to these friends. I’d like to write love letters to the friends I no longer speak to. I’d want to say so many things. 

I’d say that the last time I remembered I got so angry I crashed my car during a cold December. I’d admit I still think about summer nights and orange skies. I’d confess that I know more about the things I never wanted to know. 

I still think about it.

I assume that I’m now a fleeting thought, but do they know that I still love them? 

I’m coughing it out. I’m throwing it up. 

I’m saying that in my dreams I’m making you guacamole with pomegranate and nothing bad has happened to us. 

I can’t go back. I can’t lock in time. 

My boss tells me to learn to let go and that things can be simple, but I tell him I can’t. I tell him but they’re just not. 

Because a grocery store is never just a grocery store. 

I’m staring at a cereal box trying to find one that’ll stain my heart honey-sweet again. I’m pacing the book aisle looking for an epiphany or an addiction. I’m circling the flowers of the petals in the garden as if they can make my life beautiful. I’m looking at love letters, wondering how many get abandoned. I’m clutching my arms where the cleaning supplies are as if this particular mop head will cleanse away my inner moments of turmoil. 

I’m placing an empty cup and a packet of pencils in my cart. I grab a bucket of Ben and Jerry’s and hover over the self-checkout. 

And I wonder, would it be nice to go through something with someone else once again? 

The urban sadness of a toddler in her twenties. 

It’s inexplicable and heavy. 

But it’s also real and loud. 

Bright and Bold.