We miss each other. And in that silent longing we dissipate like the dew that settles its way into the forest, evaporating right before the light, only revealing itself to the Explorer, diligent to see its arrival before it vanishes again.
Like prized roses, armed with our thorns of defense, we force others to look upon our beauty, only available to the few that brave the painful prick of our stem and live out the remainder of our days packaged in an arrangement. Oh, how blissfully and painfully beautiful we are.
I miss you.
No, not the times you didn’t show up for me. Not your thoughtless words that sliced through my soul, leaving me bleeding open for an affirming word to hang on to that never, ever followed. Not the dozens of mixed messages showering me in confusion and drowning me in delusion that you were ever committed to there being an “us”. No, I don’t miss that.
I miss the meaning I gave it all. The dream of a future hour was stamped out long before even a second could arrive shifting what could have been into a timelessness of non-fulfillment and heart purging wreckage.
Yet, in my longing to be seen and held, I still miss you.
Like breadcrumbs from a banquet table, I stayed alive on the morsels that fell from the few times of connection and now see my own dilemma was caused by ever, ever trusting you with the strong and majestic instrument of my heart.
Others reach for me, but they are not you. Others want for me, yet the desire is still yours that you flicked off your radar as if switching between television channels, on to the next show for your own entertainment.
I miss … me.
The trouble is not you. This state of heart, mind and soul caused by the depth of my feeling, the breadth of my being wrongly paired with your heart of stone, yet not broken open to life’s wonderment where the vulnerability of being known is united with another, another just as scared as you were.
Now … I miss me. But no longer.
This time I see myself fully, gathering the pieces of a broken heart, toweling them from the dirt floor of your carelessness and assembled them to a mosaic that gleams in the moonlight of dreams and dances in the sunlight of what could be, what could be for ME.
Time has passed. The figurative water of desires runs swiftly from the bridges of yesterday and we want no more for the gentle touches that never came, the affectionate kisses withheld or the proud knowing to all that we were ever together.
Like prized silver, you taught me the pain of self care, to polish myself into a shine and store myself properly in the drawers designed for longevity.
Now, I miss no longer.
Whatever thoughts of you are like the passing cloud on a spring day. Packed with the surprise of its showers, the cloud of memories will darken for a moment and give me the gratitude of a rain that coats me in a freshness that allows me to bloom once again.
I am free once again, free to choose the beauty of myself, never needing another to recognize what I did not. Your scent has faded into the background of a distant memory, the stillness of security no longer threatened by what you were not.
You were here one moment, for a time and, like the gentle pedal of the rose, fell gracefully to reincarnate itself into what one day will be again.
I will treasure the days I cultivated you in the freedom of the wild and will curse myself for the day I placed you within the confines of a vase.
~Robin (Letters of the Heart)
Published on Minds Journal
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