How I wish, how I wish you were here. 

Every now and then my insomnia decides to make its cause known, as opposed to just remaining a quiet symptom.  I am fully aware that insomnia is not normal and while I am also very aware of the cause, it is one of those things that I choose to remain willfully ignorant of…  Having said that, once ina blue moon, the override switch fails and this big brain of mine fails to find something to think about, focus on, or otherwise work out to keep this big heart of mine from causing a stir.  Every now and again, the heart wins and while that may sound like a good thing, it is far from it.  This great big heart is broken.  The pieces are trapped in a chasm that can’t even remember the light it once knew.  They’re tattered, torn, bent, and broken beyond recognition… 

Overdramatic?

Possibly.

But then, we’re talking about the pieces of a heart so devastated that for the vast majority of the past 4 years, they have convinced a mind that overthinks every little thing that someone is merely on vacation as opposed to allowing the mind to see, comprehend, and finally come to terms with the truth.  In all fairness, perhaps it is overdramatic, but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?  How can I convince my heart it’s okay to face what it hides from the mind when the mere thought of even acknowledging the truth stops the breath and crushes the chest?  How can I convince the heart it is okay, that it is not letting go, but moving on?  If it is overdramatic, it is only because it is overwhelming.  I said somewhere a long time ago (it’s a long time ago and it’s yesterday) that when you lose someone, you don’t lose them all at once.  You lose them in pieces.  You lose what they smelled like because there is nothing left that holds their scent.  You lose the way they say your name because no one else says it quite the same.  You lose the way their skin feels and the way their feet sound when they walk…  You’ll try to remember and there will come a day when you just…  can’t.  I’d rather not remember anything then.  If I can’t have what I want out of it, I’d rather not have anything.  When you have nothing, there is no reason to be sad, right?

 

I want so badly to say that I am in a place of acceptance, but that would be lying…  And not even a fib, but a huge, elephant-in-the-room lie.  I’d like nothing more than the peace of “time healing all wounds,” but I think maybe for some people and some wounds, that’s a dirty lie, too.  How can you fill a void so vast even you don’t know its depths?  How can you replace things you need but can’t even remember?  It’s a lie.  Time doesn’t heal all wounds.  If that were true, I’d like to think that four years would at least enable me to sleep and not feel the need to move a million miles an hour so that nothing – NOTHING – will make me think of her, and if it does, I am going so fast that whatever the trigger was, it is gone and done with before I can stop and dwell on it.  Shouldn’t four years at least be enough for that?

So tonight, I fear sleep will not come and I will be forced to deal with what I do remember…  and what I do not. 

Hope fades
Into the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time
Don’t say we have come now to the end
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again

And you’ll be here in my arms
Just sleeping

 

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