Empty Carts, Revisited

Photo Credit: adrift photography at deviantart.com

It wouldn’t have

worked out anyway.

I tell myself

these lies

in hopes that

my heart will

eventually believe

them,

will eventually

quell the pain

that slowly

circumnavigates my

body and drives

tiny splinters

of missing

underneath my

chewed fingernails.

I cannot breathe

without breathing

you.

I cannot drink

without every

sip tasting of

your memory.

I take my tea

with milk

and a spoonful

of your smile,

and my daily trips

to the market

are marked

by wonderings

about your

daily trip to the market.

This verse

would not be

as gripping,

as glamorously dirty

without those

tiny shards of

your memory

lodged inside

my lungs.

Stop forcing me

to paint these

pages with pining.

Speak

and I will survive.

***

This was originally written on November 13, 2013. I reread a version of it the other day, and decided it needed reworking. Enjoy!

~Patience 

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