Free Write: Baggage
12:45 PM
It’s you wrapped up in red sheets. Kisses on dirt stained
fingertips. Gentle suckles on soft, plump lips. Salty on top of my own. Fresh
as morning dew clinging to the tip of bright green leaves. I’m missing you.
Dances surrounded by freedom. Wet grass on my feet. The kisses that light the fire
and make the flames swell. The touches and strokes that put them out.
I am yearning for you. The forever that ended so abruptly
and with so few words. With so much meaning.
You.
Filling up the vacancy that existed deep within the love of
me. The roar. The passion. It’s not empty. Nothing is there. I’m hungry for
you. I miss feeling full. It’s dinner time. It’s you. Smelling crisp like fresh
linen or man’s soap. Old Spice. Bath and Body Men’s Collection.
I’m floating. Memories of your smell carrying me to that dangerous place. It’s the way you put your hand under your chin, your finger resting
intently on your cheek. Thinking. Always contemplating.
I miss you. Where are you? Where were you when decisions
were being made and lives were being changed? Perhaps if you had stuck around,
we would still be making memories to fill these empty bags you left behind.
You are the beginning of a long weekend. You are the start
of a week vacation in Miami with the girls. Giddy. Excited. Much needed. You
are all of these things. Wrapped up in red sheets and purple hearts. You are
clean. Refreshing.
I miss you. Do you me? Are you thinking of me the way that I
am craving, FEENING for you? I miss the spaces in our home that you used to
fill. I miss your texts. The way you fumbled over words that seem to have given
you trouble. The way we acted like your stutter wasn’t there. I miss it.
There you are, surrounded by purple ribbons and red hearts.
Here I am, sitting, ignoring what I know is there. Neither one of us making a
move. Respecting the boundaries and pretending like life is the same. I know it’s
for the best. So I’ll leave you over there and pack these memories back up in
the worn suitcases from which they came. Until I feel the need to unpack them
again.
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