I Remember The Day I Bought Two Yellow Roses.
I remember the day I bought two yellow roses.
I went to your grave and placed the roses atop your gravestone. I sat beside you and talked about a few memories we had shared. I cried tears of joy because I knew you weren’t in pain anymore. The tears turned to sadness though. I asked to you please take care of the child I never got to meet. I think I may have said something about heaven. That’s where everyone believed you had went. You said you saw angels a few days before you passed on. I would never speak ill about you, but I think that’s delusional. I truly hope you are somewhere better though, holding hands and teaching my baby to fish. I see you in every cardinal that flies by me.
I’m far too cynical to believe in heaven; I would like to see again someday though.
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I mourn for all the women that were misunderstood in the past. The women who wanted to live their lives without the restraint of man telling them how they should live. Women who were burned alive for no reason other than they were born the wrong gender. Women who spoke their minds and were persecuted because their beliefs were different.
I will mourn for all the women who live after me. Women in the future will face the same things we have been experiencing for thousands of years. I have never considered myself a ‘feminist’. After years and years though, you’d think that something would change. If it hasn’t changed yet…why would anything ever be any different?
I speak with the moon, most nights.
I tell him my secrets and dreams.
He listens intently at all I have to say.
People may say I’m crazy, but I have the stars that witness my madness.
I believe in the moon more than any person. He doesn’t judge me for what I have to say.
If I listen closely, he speaks back to me.
He tells me of his darkness, and how no one truly sees him without the sun.
He holds a special place in my heart.
For I am also unseen in my darkness.
I despise myself. The way I live, or rather a state of surviving until the next sunrise. I despise the way I let others speak to me. The way I choose to live. I have no will to change it though. I will disassociate my days away.
Do you realize how difficult it is for me to put myself first? I have lived in the shadow of everyone I have ever been with. I have made myself smaller trying to fit in and be everything that they need, always.
Now, is the time for me. It took me thirty years to finally acknowledge this. I will lose people in doing so. I will have to put my own feelings ahead of everyone else.
Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin. How do I learn to not care about how I make everyone else feel? How do I do what I need to do to heal and become this better version of me? How do I even be me?
Who am I, really?
Can I tell you a secret?
I dream about a different life. One without children and without a husband. I dream of living alone. Having a small studio apartment. A decent job. Ultimately relying on me myself and I for everything. A few good friends I could meet on the weekends. Just living my life for me and me alone.
Humans are silly little things. They make up higher beings in their minds so that death doesn’t seem too scary in the end. It helps them go to sleep, dreaming that when they die they’ll have someplace else to go. Silly creatures they are, death is death. The end. Nothing comes after.
When I have no ideas for putting together the thoughts that need to read aloud by others, I like to pretend that it is not my time yet for my words, thoughts, feelings to be put out in the world. Please, give me a sign when it is my time to emerge from my subconscious once again. These thoughts are slowly drowning me and must be set free.
I don’t think about it often. Usually just on two dates in the year. But sometimes out of nowhere it punches me in the chest.
It has been nine years since I’ve lost you. I won’t ever get to know who you may have been. I don’t talk about you, I’m not sure how to.
This grief will never end.
