The sound of letting go
You were all thunderstorms and oceans made of forest fires, your booming roars soaring through your silver throat, making a home beneath my shoulders.
You were all wildflowers, grown from fistfuls of the sky, honey spread across your crooked mouth, a garden I used to live in; a garden that now only lives when I shut my eyes,
and dream.
I remember the color of your skin when you poured your soul all over me,
I remember the sting of your hands
as you touched me for the last time;
You never opened your mouth,
but you told me,
you were so sorry.
I couldn’t hear your words over the screaming of my bones,
I spent this past year ringing my throat dry, begging you to stay, begging you to answer me when I asked you, why every time I tried to hold you, you slipped through my fingers like smoke, burning away every last piece of you I had left.
I still see your hands through the fire you left in me,
I still remember how it felt when the world became so quiet
that all I could hear was the ticking of my blood running through my veins,
the first time, that my bones stopped screaming.
I listened to the way the wind wrapped it’s hands around the moons neck, I listened to the sound of the crickets breath.
I remember the sting of your hands as you touched me for the last time;
You never opened your mouth,
But you told me...
you were so sorry.
I heard your words for the first time, over the screaming of my bones.
I heard you for the first time, through the firecracker in your throat, you told me, it’s okay to let you go.
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