To keep myself writing, I do different exercises to reinforce my creativity. One of those is that I have a jar in which I put little papers with the name of feelings or emotions, and once a month, I open one of them and write about the emotion.
This time the story is about grief.
Since a month ago, I haven’t heard from you, but don’t get me wrong; I feel your presence all the time. There isn’t a day I don’t think of you, and I even believe there are corners in my place where your smell hides.
While I remove my makeup and get ready to sleep, you appear on my mind. I feel the fear of finding the ghost of your memory inside my bed that feels cold without your body and passion.
The other day I decided I’ll try something different, and when you appear in my mind while brushing my teeth, I hold your memory instead of running from it and let myself cry while remembering you brushing your teeth by my side. Just the way it used to be.
With my eyes closed, I imagined the way you looked at me with the edge of the eye while you were enjoying sharing the daily mundane things. You pass your hands through my hips because, in those moments, you love to touch my skin, and I’m pretty sure I heard your voice. I heard how you said: you are beautiful; just after I remove my makeup.
To remember the way you love me, fill me with nostalgia.
I broke down in tears; I broke in so many pieces I can’t stand up, so I sit to keep my balance. I can’t remember how much time I spend there, but when my body feels dry from crying too much, I went to bed. This time the bed felt warm and peaceful, like if it feels pity for me, so it gets smaller to hold me. So small that your smell couldn’t hide anywhere, and there is no room for your body.
Maybe the secret to stop missing you is to feel you, feel the love I have left, let it penetrate in such an intense way I can’t keep it, and then love escapes. Since you don’t appear more, love could only run away and never turn back.
Maybe that way, someday I feel empty, empty from you. Ready to fill me with another smell, another love, another warm body, and the prints of other hands running through my skin while I brush my teeth.
From My Edge 