Over the years, I've written several pieces of poetry, much of it free-form. The piece that follows is one that I wrote in my journal as a freshman in college following the emotional end of a long-term relationship. When I read this today, I can still feel that searing pain. I've been thinking about this particular piece lately, because it confirms to me that no matter how painful or uncomfortable a subject might be, writing about it can open doors to healing. And what a privilege it is to be able to read and reflect upon that writing years later.
As the morning sun creeps through the window,
I pull up the covers, hide my eyes.
My first day Without You.
What went wrong?
The alarm clock jolts me back into my routine.
I mustn't think, I mustn't feel.
Keep the mind occupied, the hands busy,
and leave no room for hurting.
I am numb.
I know somewhere across the city you, too, are waking.
Will today be any different than yesterday for you?
I can see your rumpled hair, your sleepy eyes as you pad to the refrigerator.
That shirt you're putting on is one I bought you for Christmas last year.
How can I fool myself into believing we're no more than "friends"?
You know as well as I that I will never be able to be near you again; I'll never be able to call you a "dear, old pal".
The warmth of the bathroom comforts me, and the water from the shower hides my tears.