Sidenote on this story. I, along with many other people, got some terrible news recently about a couple of people we love. And I guess this is me trying to deal with that.
More often than not, I find myself in a broken field–huge cracks in the earth and the world washed in that strange gray light that makes it impossible to tell if it’s morning or evening. And I’m alone in the world. There’s only me, the endless sky and the bent and dried stalks of grass.
It’s only when the pain comes that I know you’re with me. Even though I can barely open my eyes, I know you’re here. I can feel your hand around mine, and the weight of your head against my hip as you rest your forehead against the bed.
And I hear you talking to me. I can’t answer, even though I want to. Desperately. I tried to tell you everything you needed to know before I couldn’t any more. And I thought I had. I thought I’d told you all the things I love most about you. I want to tell you you’re remembering our first date wrong. I want to tell you that no one has ever made me as happy as you have. I want to tell you about the broken field where I’ll be waiting for you, but the pain steals my breath. It steals my words. It steals me away from you.
Cool relief spreads through my body, and that relief carries me away from you. Farther and faster than usual. But I can still make out your lips on my head, and the heat of your tears on my skin.
I know you can’t hear me, but I’ll be waiting for you in the broken field for as long as it takes.