This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Wells chapter.
I expected no word from you
when you left.
But still, your silence
left me with unspeakable grief.
Words, unmaterial becomings
haunt a chosen leaf of time.
To hold it, possess a spirit of
loss, burrowing within my throat,
my lungs,
my stomach,
my knees, dizzy when I move
towards holiness.
I reside elsewhere, not of the
time I’m in,
but the time when I knew you.
All I have now?
The spirit of grief,
holy and deep.
All I hold now?
All I hold now is
a cigarette,
mind of its own,
addiction drawn to red lips, my
lips, red from the blood
of you.
Billowing smoke, exhale,
breath of my own self let go,
opening my insides for you.
I know your silence,
all that’s left.
Fill me, feel me.
Leave me.