You whisked in for a visit just yesterday, and I can still smell you lingering around the halls. Lying here alone in a bed that I’ve learned to share feels strange and foreign as I stretch out to fill the void. You have started to breeze in and out just like you will for the rest of your life, and it makes me wonder. Is this the life I truly want? If I could choose you and pluck you from this world into the fantasy life I dreamed while whispering next to you, everything would be perfect. Nobody ever really wanted perfect, though, when they reached deep down to ask.
This is the time to learn, I guess–to learn whether living with a ghost is a life worth having. Starting some days rolling over to your sweet, simple smile one day and an empty pillow the next are your partner’s guarantee. But will it be me? Will there be enough to fill the in between when missing you feels like drowning? Can I be a half that’s whole on my own?
A good girl wouldn’t hate you for the path you’ve carved, but I’ve never been a good girl. I worry that the time alone will make me bitter towards a man that is my world and who’s eyes could melt an ice storm, my ice storm. Perhaps it would be better to leave now with the memories of you so perfect. Just. Perfect.
That gentle breeze around my shoulders to let me know you’re here;
The billowing pushing me towards a real, true me that only you see;
The storm desperately trying to reach in and love a woman entirely closed;
That’s how I want you to stay forever. Please stay that way forever, my wild wind.
Ink Wanderings 