I Can Feel You Leaving

I can feel you leaving.
I can feel it because I left my house without my rings on today. My bracelets were there and I heard them clanging against each other as I walked, but when I fidgeted my fingers, like I usually do, they were bare. And I felt naked.

I can feel you leaving.
I can feel it because the sweet orchestra music today was both serene and somber. Too somber. And as I sat there trying to keep it serene, with my eyes welling up, the rest of the room faded and the blank stares of unfamiliar faces around me hurt.  A lot. And I wanted to pick up my bag and walk out, but I wasn't sure where I would go. And I was scared.

I can feel you leaving.
I can feel it because I can't remember how to cook. I don't taste when it's too salty. I don't remember to lower the flame. I don't care about the presentation. I eat without thinking. Without chewing. Without tasting. My stomach doesn't know if it's empty. Or full.

I can feel you leaving.
Because I cried today. In public. And I didn't care. I did. But I didn't. I kept crying even though I pretended I was starting to feel better.
And I yelled. And I hit. Because I wanted to make the pain that was beating me up inside get out.

I can feel you leaving.
Because I am not here myself.
I watch myself from afar. Sometimes close by. I stand in front of myself. I watch my lips move. I hear myself say the words. And I hate the sound of my voice. I hate how silly I sound. I tell myself to stop talking. Or, I choose the "right" words to say. in advance.  in preparation.
It's not me. I know it's not. I watch myself from the other side of my face and I know it's not me because the words are not coming from within they are coming from a contrived place that I have tried so hard to climb out of.
And it's you. Leaving me. Lost.
I'm lost without you.




Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not that you're leaving me. Maybe I'm trying too hard to hold on to the wrong things. Maybe I'm clinging and grasping and squeezing and forcing things. And I'm suffocating you.

Maybe you are trying to tell me it's okay. Maybe you want me to know that you are ready.

Maybe it's just me. This is you. This is me. You're there. This is your time. This is my time. And I'm not ready for either.

In my mind I have made it beautiful and easy and perfect and sweet. And that's not how it was ever meant to me. It's not possible. And I thought that if I tried hard enough I could make it that way. But I can't.

So. It's not you leaving me.
That's not what I feel.

What I feel is pain. Hurt. Sorrow. Sadness. Anger. Frustration. Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.

The immensity of your love is killing me.

It's not leaving.
It's permeating my every cell.
And I just. Can't. Contain myself.

And I need the hugs. The kisses. The hand holds. The rubs. The grabs.
Even though they make me cry.
I need them because they help release the love that is overflowing in me.
From you.
They help me share it with the world.
Because it is too much for me.

I can feel you.
Loving me.