I’ve never been one for belief. Preferring, since I first found words, the question. But you suggest an answer now. Something permanent and waiting. As if there might be gods and fates whispering, a place and time of return.
I would know you anywhere. In a room filled, or across vast, empty spaces. Even when I’m not looking for- … I somehow seek to find you.
Perhaps. Perhaps. We are indeed part of something greater. An entire universe found in our kiss hello. Sliding lips remembering. The familiar that comes from knowing.
(Perhaps I’ve lost my goddamn mind.)
There is always the first time someone lets you down.
Always the first wound, and even if they tend to that wound after, even if they do everything to make up for what they inflicted, it’s hard not to hold on to that very first time. The first time you were a bright spark of hope, and the person who lit you up looked at your light, and asked you to lay down your torch.
There is always the first wound. It remains where it formed; it remains locked deep under the skin. Scar tissue is never as supple as that which it replaces.
(How hard it is to undo our mind once we believe something to be true. Once we’ve committed to an idea. Even when it’s the most damaged idea we’ve ever had).
You will always remind this girl of salt and tears.
In times to come. When her body remembers.
(Her body always remembers you)
I can tin-plate my skin and heart against your impact, but always the cracks appear. Always, this slow shattering when the moon is full, or the sun is blinding.
It happens when I close my eyes. Or when I open them under water, or when I stand in the earliest morning, all surface and rain and disappearing.
All of the forgetting, and weights falling. As I dive back into the void.
(Loving you so often feels like letting go)
~ Kobi Yamada
Some will have days, or moments.
I had you.
2014. The art of letting GO.
Image credit: Joanne Piechota