Love and Its Caveat
How do you tell someone you're not a whole person?
How do you tell them you are a fraction?
That the day your mother left this earth was the day you lost a part of you that you'll never gain back?
That you’re not sure what to do with the other parts left of you?
How do you tell them that without losing them too?
Someone should've warned me and you: everyone.
Should've told the collective “us” that heartache would feel like a scraped knee and losing a parent would feel like having every limb being cut off with a blunt knife over and over. And after, your life will be stripped of colour in every way except for when you feel too much.
Someone should've said "you'll see red and feel it too and then you'll see black and feel the bluest you’ve ever felt and colours and flavours and sights and living all stop mattering to you"
Or any kind of sign to let someone know love is wonderful but is loss truly the caveat?
And tell me how long I'm expected to stay stuck in the murky grey before I can see all the colours again, before I can feel yellow like the daffodils I grew up with in the spring; before I can see the pink and amber shades of a sunset without feeling guilty for my tranquillity in the moment?
How long before I can blast my favourite song and dance like no one is around without feeling the need to curl up in a ball?
How many more sunsets will I let pass me by before the sun shines ever so brightly on my day once more?
Not long ago, after many sunrises passed me by, I left my house to feel the familiar warmth of rays hitting my skin and radiating inside of me and I smiled because in that moment, although it was nothing compared to a playful hug from my mum. . . I forgot to feel guilty.
How do you tell them you are a fraction?
That the day your mother left this earth was the day you lost a part of you that you'll never gain back?
That you’re not sure what to do with the other parts left of you?
How do you tell them that without losing them too?
Someone should've warned me and you: everyone.
Should've told the collective “us” that heartache would feel like a scraped knee and losing a parent would feel like having every limb being cut off with a blunt knife over and over. And after, your life will be stripped of colour in every way except for when you feel too much.
Someone should've said "you'll see red and feel it too and then you'll see black and feel the bluest you’ve ever felt and colours and flavours and sights and living all stop mattering to you"
Or any kind of sign to let someone know love is wonderful but is loss truly the caveat?
And tell me how long I'm expected to stay stuck in the murky grey before I can see all the colours again, before I can feel yellow like the daffodils I grew up with in the spring; before I can see the pink and amber shades of a sunset without feeling guilty for my tranquillity in the moment?
How long before I can blast my favourite song and dance like no one is around without feeling the need to curl up in a ball?
How many more sunsets will I let pass me by before the sun shines ever so brightly on my day once more?
Not long ago, after many sunrises passed me by, I left my house to feel the familiar warmth of rays hitting my skin and radiating inside of me and I smiled because in that moment, although it was nothing compared to a playful hug from my mum. . . I forgot to feel guilty.