I woke up today in a world where youre no longer even a text away.
That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.
I can see dawn dancing through the curtains we didnt bother closing after one too many glasses of Malbec.
Chloé Coislier
You havent made a sound, but I know youre awake.
I cant see it, but I can feel that lopsided smile.
Good morning, beautiful.
We make breakfast champagne and pineapple juice obligatory on a Saturday morning.
You place me on the kitchen counter and we kiss like we have nowhere to be.
Its noon and youve already made me come twice.
But I woke up today in a world where youre no longer even a text away.
I listen to a song and hear the echo of your name with each thud of my heart.
I follow its sound blindly into the woods, knowing I should walk the other way.
I come upon your footprints beneath the moons glow in the snow.
They never lead to anywhere but memories.
Who taught you to write in blood on my back?
Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons?
You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark.
The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks.
You tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body.
Jeanette Winterson,Written On The Body
What do you remember about me?
Id like to think my eyes.
Do you ever see them when you close yours at night?
Do they ever haunt you in dreams?
Do you ever look into hers and wonder who is looking at me?
What about that red corset and the matching lipstick?
Do you remember that night?
Your mouth was a match, mine was the kindling.
You kissed me, turning the light on in every room inside my body.
You saw into me.
You kissed me, wrapped your hand around my throat, how did you know?
You split open a universe.
Probably someone should take this girl in his arms and hold her tight, I thought.
Probably someone other than me.
The first thing Ill buy will be a rosary for my mother outside of the Sistine Chapel.
Ill watch the sunset over Florence from Piazzale Michelangelo.
Ill go to Milan just to buy a red dress to wear when I make it to Cinque Terre.
Ill conquer my fear of heights jumping off the cliffs and into the water with the locals in Riomaggiore.
Ill enjoy a five-course meal watching the water reflecting the night sky in Manarola.
The brown eyes you loved so much will be shimmering in ambers and gold.
Ill nod when he asks if he may sit and I wont think of you.
Hell leave me notes in bed every morning.
Well grow old and Ill never stop writing.
Hell never stop telling me Im a talent and Ill never stop telling him I love him.
Our hands will always look for each other and well never forget to kiss goodnight.
Ill die in a white cotton nightgown like the one my grandmother used to wear.
My curly hair wild and silver, my small hands wrinkled; maiden, mother, and now crone.
And if you dont, Ill always have the hope that you do, and Im satisfied with that.
Love me a little, I adore you.
I feel dead inside and I somehow still manage to miss you.
I wonder if Ill always feel this sad.
I wonder if Ill always be this alone.
Does my face ever come across those eyelids?
When you think of me, do you feel a pang in your chest?
Do you even think of me?
Im afraid you hate me for all the poetry.
Im afraid you hate me for other things.
The alternative makes me feel more alone, even if we never speak again.
We fucked a flame into being.
D.H. Lawrence,Lady Chatterleys Lover
I think my skin has a mind of its own.
I wouldnt wonder if I made you up.
You have consumed every part of me that was still alive.
Our moments were small and they were secret, but they were ours.
Our love knew nothing of progress or time, but transcendent it was.
I may always mourn every word left unsaid.
I wanted to walk through the one I yearn for with you.
Youre as visceral as the organs that work in unison to keep my body functioning.
Maybe Ill go on more dates with him and Ill feel like I can get close to someone again.
Maybe not him, but the next man Ill be able to love well enough.
Or maybe Ill end up alone finding sustenance in myself and my art.
Well, you never did, and you never will.
If this were my book, the ending would be so different, but its not.
