I mean to write to heal,

letting time pass in the

stringing together of thoughts as words

reasonably emotional,

poignant,

honest–

~

I mean to write to heal,

but surely I am not mending my heart

but burrowing into the contours

of its wounds.

~

Each description of each memory

like shards of glass,

fragments of us

that make no more sense on paper

than they do in the vessel

from which I pull them.

Transparent.

Raw.

~

It’s all there for me to feel,

and until I have, I cannot heal.

~

Until I have sat in those depths

and listened to the pulsating

rhythm of my repressed hurt,

angsty,

unfulfilled.

~

God, each word would satisfy so

much more sweetly

if directly to your ears,

if they were to coax out your response–

tangible,

revealing.

~

I’ll call out again that I love you.

I’ll write again of tangled bodies,

unsealed lips

and the most gentle fingertips.

Of fears.

Of truths.

~

I’ll detail the wisdom

my heart has acquired in

being willing to lose your love

again and again

and write because I know it is not lost at all.

Too potent.

Impressive.

~

Your love will linger

beneath the scars,

and pulse with my blood,

a part of my being that

there are no words for,

a story that has written itself and

ends exactly as it is supposed to.

In love.

In gratitude.

~

The greatest love stories are timeless.

~

Author: Tiffany Anderson

Editor: Khara-Jade Warren

Image: DancingWaters97/ DeviantArt

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