I WAS vs. Am

I.
I was
blanketing the sound
of repercussion before realizing
I miss that incredible feeling
of waking up next to you,
of falling asleep in your arms,
of smiling because you made me;
it was always effortless,
the intensity your eyes instilled
beneath the surface of my skin,
embedded in my pores,
something soap could never
wash away;
but for some reason,
i scrubbed it dry.
II.
i am
inquisitive of the foundation
for my departure;
does it mirror your own?
an escape,
a release,
a temporary fix that may
be permanent if all the
holes can be stitched in a timely fashion.
III.
i was
never the type
to wear my heart
on my sleeve -
(it is now broken
& bleeding for all
to see)
the sutures are
merely bandaged over
& i keep ripping them out.
IV.
i am
an open wound
(& i still miss that
incredible feeling.)


The air is cold, mid-blue, and a hum descends down the mountains, through the blue-ridge valley. I put on a wooly jumper & rub my hands together, but the air is dry & they begin to chap. I pull a seashell out of my chest of drawers and pull it to my ear; I heard once that the sea takes for itself whatever it wishes, to escape from its lurches is more a curse than a blessing. I think about stringing shells across the Atlantic Ocean, like tin can telephones, with brown parcel string where the gulls can sit. I'll send you an Atlantic seashell,
so you can hear the waves.