Remnants of you keep reminding me of what I lost daily.
Every time I apologize for something -
sleeping too much, feeling too much, talking too much
Every time I go mute because I was too loud -
my excitement, my frustration, my laughter
Every time I get nervous to say what's on my mind -
am I over thinking, over explaining, talking out of turn?
Every time I want to ask for what I need -
am I expecting too much, overreacting, do I need to calm down?
In your vows you said you could never see the love in someone's eyes like you could see it it mine. You loved the way I looked at you: with appreciation, and wonder, genuine excitement for the future. You loved my want for adventure, my inability to sit still, my willingness to always try something and fall in love with it.
You blamed me as it slowly disappeared. I blamed myself for your frustration with me. You noticed that those traits weren't only for you, it was for the world. Soon my wonder became frustrating. Why did I always need to know the answer to everything? My appreciation of things slowed us down. My excitement and passion for the mundane became too much. Why was I always looking for something new, why couldn't I just stick with something for a while?
I was a breath of fresh air for you until the same air occupied your smoke stained lungs and it hurt to inhale me.
I punished myself for this.
I lowered my voice.
Stopped asking questions.
I kept my excitement about the flowers I saw to myself.
I refrained from telling you the funny story from the stranger I talked to.
I stopped talking to strangers so I didn't have to keep things to myself.
I stopped looking for new hobbies, I can't switch if there's nothing new.
Whatever it took to make you happy but the light in my eyes was diminishing, and you hated that too. I wasn't myself anymore, I changed, you claimed. I did. I changed for you. To receive your love and not your disdain.
But now I was... boring, stale. I didn't want to go out, our conversation died down – what if I said the wrong things and lost you because you had no interest in what I was saying? Worse, what if I talked to you at the wrong time, with the wrong subject and the anger you held for yourself you released onto me?
The remnants from you of what I lost remain -
But slowly she's coming back.
She was just lost, not gone.
She's finding her way back.
She's shy now but she's learning that she's
not too loud
not too excited
not over explaining.
She's not too much and soon she will be healed from the poison you handed me meant for her. She poured so much into you that there was nothing left for herself but I'm starting to see glimpses of her again.
Her voice is coming back, her love for the world, her wonder for what's too come, her curiosity for why things are.
I thought you killed her, but that's unfair to you. I willingly hid her away and now I have to coax her back out, slowly gain her trust back. I thought I was protecting her but I was just placating you by locking her up.
The more she appears, the less I miss her, the less I miss you. You and her can't coexist in the same place and I will never choose you over her again.
I wish you could've loved her the way I do, the way she loved you.
But I will love her and she will love me the way we needed to be loved by you.
The remnants of you are disappearing each time I embrace her.