to k, the other day


In March it will be one year since she left me. One year since I and everything around me fell apart. Literally. March is now less than 2 months away. It will be a year. And inside, I am still shattered. I am still in pieces. I am still and think I will be for a long time to come, still broken.

I still can’t talk about it, or her without crying or having a mini panic attack. I try to avoid it, but then I remember that saying: “I am tied to what I try to avoid”. So basically its a catch 22. Either way, I will be fucked by this. It is the ONLY haunting thing in my life, I am absolutely terrified of. It IS a ghost. A bad one. The rest of my life, before that, most of past, I have managed to romanticise somehow so there is a little pang (dramatic seasoning) but otherwise, it’s just a slightly sad nostalgia trip.


I have a lot of unhappiness inside me that I have not taken care of. I have kept them like old clothes and shoes that don’t fit anymore, that I will never wear ever again, that are so ugly I cannot bear to bring them out into the light. There is darkness everywhere, and the worst of it is usually inside us.

Where do I go to throw out the fetid, festering garbage of pain inside? Where can I tip my heart out into some black crevasse, from where it can never return? Where can I buy a detergent so perfect that it will clean the most stubborn stains? The dark, caked stains of old love. The dark stains of bereavement and grief, the empty shadowed stains of loss and hurt, the cold, grey stains of loneliness and abandonment and rejection and utter, utter desolation?


I am screaming. My soul CRIES for an answer. No one replies. The world turns its face away from me and God is silent. I have only walls. I never built them. They were put around me. I can try scratching at them but I have bitten away all my nails and my fingers bleed. I have not shut the world out. I have shut myself in.

Can you understand the difference?

Can you understand the slow, long wail of the soul that can only be heard inside one’s head? Can you? I will sell my soul for the silence that can replace that. Take me home, I keep telling Him. TAKE ME HOME. When I do, he just turns and walks away from me.

I’m stopping here. My fingers are trembling and the tears are blurring my sight.

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