714 DAYS

 714 DAYS

 

 

It’s been 714 days now since you took the warmth away and left my heart in cold, like there’s winter in my bones and when my heart gets too heavy you can hear my glaciers groan but Don’t worry I still have that sweater of mine that you wore many times and it still smells of you and places we have been, with tears caught in its fabric from the nights you cried, from the nights I cried, asking each other never to leave no matter what. I wear it sometimes at night like my life sewn in it seams and it’s what kept me warm in the cold that you left me. Its bright colors now a memory of time lost long ago.

It’s been a long time now since we talked 714 days to be exact, I didn’t mean to count but they said it would take 547 days to forget you, and it’s clear that I didn’t because these days were less of a truce and more of a battle between remembering and forgetting. I don’t know if you ever think of me? If I mean anything to you? If you ever think of being with me again. I wonder if you even remember my face because I remember you in fragments and the sound of your voice is kind of a fade now as you drifted out like feather in the breeze like you were not even there and still managed to break me into those glass shards on the floor around my feet, the same shards that will hurt people who come too close to me, I call myself a poet, a weaver of words but I still can’t make that glass shards look like a beautiful accident. I can’t make the death of us a peaceful shade of blue when all the blood on the floor makes it looks like ugly puke green. Not a day goes by without me thinking about you and there you are not being able to place me in your past, like I am not a part of you anymore.

So what I am going to do is I will no longer look for you in the crowded room or write poems for you or send you hand written letters you told me you loved so much, even that sweater has seen its share of sunshine now and worn out once too much, it no longer fits me snug. I have got my own internal flame that keeps me nice and warm. I guess this is the last piece I am writing for you, because from tomorrow I am going to stop counting the days and make these days count. I even burned the last of my love for you and it tasted like relief and as I bid you both farewell I promised myself I will no longer think of you, I am erasing you and I am happy.

And maybe I will believe myself someday.