Act I: The Beginning of an Epilogue
A collection of poems and prose on themes of longing, closure, healing, wistfulness, nostalgia and new beginnings all inspired by different songs, instances and sometimes people in my life. enjoy :)
- scrawled.in.ink
note: (all lowercase letters are intentional)
- sundays -
call me on a sunday,
and we'll talk about the government,
we'll talk about our saturdays,
and how each of them were spent;
we'll talk about the art gallery near my house,
and the bookstore near yours,
"you'll never guess who i saw on the street,"s
and "i think i'm coming home this year,"s;
i'll tell you how my coffee tasted,
and you'll tell me about your test,
i'll ask about that party you went to
and wonder if you still wear that dress;
i still wear the scarf you gave me,
i still have your cards,
i'll tell you about the rainbow i saw,
and you'll tell me about the stars;
i'd talk to you for hours,
only if we could,
please call me again next sunday,
and it'll be spent, (with you) as it should.
- august (slipped away, like a moment in time; ‘cause it was never mine)
It's been
6 days since your birthday
and 6 years since we last spoke.
august leaves me
with a bittersweet smile
like i had when i saw you
for the last time.,
Now august is gone
and so are you,
and i don't know how to feel about that.
I don't really know you anymore, either.
(i can only think about the version that i did.)
It feels real when I write it down, or say it out loud.
You feel real. (you are, i remind myself.)
funny how the date haunts my thoughts right up until it actually arrives.
somehow, then, it escapes, slipping through the cracks of my memory down to my forgetfulness.
Last year, someone came along and made me forget.
Now, August is someone else’s, and not yours, anymore.
(then why do you persist?)
I felt free then. I thought I wouldn't have to think of you anymore
(then why do you live on in my memory?)
Just because I forgot, I thought I could stop.
(why do you haunt me?)
I guess I was wrong.
(why, why, why?)
August hangs heavy over my head (and my heart), and there you stand, in the corner of my eye, right where I can see you but just can’t reach.
And somehow, every year when this week rolls around
I find my thoughts wandering to you, once again.
(let me be free, i beg, i think, i pray.
and yet i find myself saying,)
How are you?
How's your mom doing? I miss her.
I heard your dog turns 3 this year.
I wish I could’ve met him.
I saw the medals in your contact photo,
congratulations;
(yes, i still have your number.)
I'm proud of you.
Even though I don't know you anymore,
I think I always will be.
happy birthday.
- closure
I never thought I’d have to write about you again.
I remember running free with you– wild, young;
far too young.
I remember every inch of your home.
I remember your green bedroom walls and the stuffed toy dog on your shelf;
I remember the height of your cycle and the way the park looked from your window.
I remember you. (or at least, who we used to be.)
See but that's the thing–
You always forgot my birthday and I still remember yours.
I kept that locket for years,
in the jacket pocket closest to my heart
(a promise, of sorts.)
I wish we’d stayed friends.
Things may have turned out differently;
maybe i wouldn’t have this empty space in my heart
(where you should have been)
(“should have..”)
They say some people come into your life
just to teach you how to let go.
It feels like you were a lifetime ago; and I don’t think I ever did.
There’s this ache in my heart
(where you should have been)
that says ‘it was always you it has always been you always always always-’
I never thought I’d have to write about you again.
(someone I never thought of losing, for someone I should not have; someone I hoped I never had to, but knew I would anyway.)
So i’ll sit around
and be the number you’ll never text
with the song you’ll never think twice about
in a country you’ll never visit
I’ll sit around and wait,
for closure to come along.
- the quiet creation of space -
some days
i need to remind myself that
moments of intimacy
are not those of weakness
and a show of your vulnerability
is not that of poor judgement
even so,
sometimes
space needs to be created
for better things that are
yet to come.
- september -
it’s september now,
and i think i’ll forget about you again.
i’ll forget about the way i felt your warmth around me in a dream
because that is all it’ll ever be.,
there is no room for longing in september,
for it’ll make way for something new;
something that won't hurt me as much as you
i’ll do what i love, and say what i mean
i tell myself
and maybe this time, i actually will.
life is my hands stretched out towards the sky; wide and childlike, reaching for something you'll never know if you can have unless you try.
to me, that is what september feels like.
i never thought it would; but here we are.
i smile a lot more now.
let the smoke clear.
september, is for warmth,
pumpkin spice
and new beginnings.
i thought i’d run from the chasing claws of august right into september, the very belly of the beast.
but september welcomed me into its arms, soft, and kind; patient, and tender. welcomed me into lush green and dark emerald and whispers of promises of something better yet to come.
(hopeful; resilient.)
and here we are,
at the end once more,
but this is just the beginning;
for september, is to begin again.