I wish I could understand it.
I wish I could explain it.
When he’s here the
grief is overwhelming.
The grief that it’s not her.
The grief that I am sharing
space that belongs to her,
and I have no reason to
believe that here is where
she would ever want to be.
It is a barbed and
double edged sword,
and I want it out of me.
It was almost out of me.
I feel that if he could
let me go that this
reserved space would
fill up with me.
There would be
more room to
understand why
I find myself
crying in a closet
when the man that
loves me with
all that he is
is patiently waiting
until I’m finished
with my meditations.
Instead I’m crying and
trying to get out the pain.
Trying to understand how
he assumes that
I don’t think of his feelings
when the thought of
sharing my bed with him
makes it hard for
me to breathe,
but still I smile and
offer up this sacred space
while my soul is
struggling to let
him love me.
Let him love me
when everything inside me
screams let me go.
Let me go.
Let.
Me.
Go.
