Should I leave us
on that shore
with the imperfect shells
under our hardened feet
your hope matching
the aquamarine of
the gentle waves
mine hollow,
hidden
like the sun below
the separation
of sky and sea
(we jumped to
see its final rays
below)
In letting you go
I fear losing
healthy and
consistent
experiences
of love, perceived
(this loss feels paralyzing)
but if we
keep
on that
shore
jumping to see the
sun's descent
If I hold us
in that water
with the steady waves
and unfiltered sun
Perhaps it won't
be a loss at all.
Maybe its
always been
a gain
I'm not there, yet
the finality of
the goodbye
I still hold on
to memories like
they're fallible
like they are
at risk of
slipping away
if I don't focus
hard enough
But soon I know
it's coming;
the sun is setting
behind its
horizon line
and this time
I won't jump
to watch it
fall.
Author: restlesscrescent
I write when I feel. I write to release and to share. This is my poetry. Most hours I spend on others, listening while I work as a therapist. This is a space for me. I hope you enjoy the pieces of self I choose to share with you.
Garage
One night after
a day of
let downs and
all the rest
I parked my car
in its spot;
let the engine run.
I couldn’t
step out
or turn the
engine off.
You came running
down the stairs
to my door.
You reached in,
turned off the car,
guided me out.
I thought maybe
that could be
enough
Fleeting
yet powerful
moments of love.
Temporary
I so badly wanted it
to be you.
It was temporary.
We were, that is.
That made it
no less real.
I sure did
like to pretend,
though.
I held on
just in case
i was proven
wrong.
like me
I so desperately wanted to be liked that I became versions of myself So unlikeable So inconsistent People couldn’t understand couldn’t come to terms with who I even was At almost 30 I've decided that trying so hard to change the parts of me that are me is like asking a car to drive with no engine So I stopped trying to be likable I started to become Just that - nothing more and nothing less. I became. And when I stopped resisting all that I am I noticed how likable I became
Royale (clarity)
you consistently took pictures of me and of us and I'd smile and you'd lean your head towards my own I look at the ones from the Cove and the summer before your eyes are the clearest blue I always thought they would reveal, open I thought they'd let me in Opaque we are together and not in every photograph and I held on waiting for the clear imagining the moment you'd love me enough The clarity was never in the blue of your eyes or in our tent on the Isle it was always here in my knowing that we were temporary fleeting it's why i worked tirelessly to resist it to make us permanent but this wasn't some challenge or journey of worth this was simply two people intertwined in timing and love you were satisfied, content and I couldn't handle the truth in the opaqueness the reality that was right in front of me
quiet
I like him best while he plays his strings kisses my neck existing quietly, together Is that fair when so much of his energy is loud and bold sometimes I think the quiet of the last two years changed me even when I resented it.
enough
I am always somewhere else not in one place on to the next back there and even further on. Tell me, when will the waxing crescent above the setting sun be enough
smothered
Up until that point I had seen no clearer skies or stars as abundant I remember you in images of the fire on the shore sounds of the dark waves, the blanket on the sand- I read my book instead of looking at you under those stars. And tonight across the blackest of clouds a lighting storm a cascade of lines and energy of matter and change You were both there and not there Just the same as under the Milky Way at the shores of the Great Lakes on the edge of the fire that we smothered with sand and water.
Hands
I left you in July, started again in August. I’ll spend September wondering how you are. You sat there holding my hands, “I don’t want to let you go,” You implored, as if you could not see that I no longer knew the hands in my own. I knew you no more or no less than I had the July before or the one before that. “I miss that special bond,” He said to me, a week after. What bond is silent, I wanted to ask. What bond exists only in two laptop screens and a tv monitor a late night cuddle, a quick- paced walk. Perhaps you did know me more than I knew you. Maybe I let you know me. The me that left and rose from your bedroom floor knows not of how or why two years from the day I asked for promises changed everything I thought I wanted.
Special (full moon)
My father has always looked through a wide frame lens He sees the flaws and the work wrapped delicately in regrets and pride He watches as the sun rises and falls from the center of my chest He sees ocean waves in the irises of the eyes he passed to me (he takes me driving to see the super moon in the fall) there is no facade or performance with and for him He sees it all and offers no wavering, conditional affection. “If anything happened to you, my world would shatter.” My father gave me the experience of feeling precious. My father taught me attachment. and as I grew and moved, I looked back to witness the ways and times I’ve loved and been loved and despite the depth and authenticity, nothing stuck or lasted longer then what was enough. And here I am again at the precipice of a new moon, a waxing crescent a love that is tangible yet fragile but to him, it comes and goes and he fears its illusive state and i fear its capacity to crumble - it isn't consistent yet he isn't consistent, yet. Maybe I'm not, either. This process and indecision changes the ways I feel held. I don't feel special. Not in his eyes, yet. I don’t want the waning and waxing with anything related to the love he has to offer. Give me the wide lens frame, the sunrise and sunset, the ocean waves. Synchronize with your head and heart. give me the full moon or nothing at all.
The Restless Crescent 