{Thoughts}: Looking inside of Myself (Past the Illness)

Some people only have finite room in their heart for love. They may love one person with everything they are, and only edge in a few other key players: their mother, their father, their grandmother. For me, I love too much and too widely. Everyone gets shuffled around, but there’s room for so many people. My heart continues to expand and change with each person I love; some people only have finite room in their heart. Mine grows and changes like an amorphous blob that constantly shifts and expands and grows.

I think of the boy whose birthday was a couple of days ago. He would have been twenty-eight, instead, he’s buried in the ground. His hair was as soft as silk, his tummy soft, and it shook when he laughed. Sometimes, I made him laugh really hard. Sometimes, we kissed, and it felt like everything shifted inside of me to make room for this boy. This boy who would call me at the weirdest times with the weirdest things on his mind. I remember walking the streets at night, chasing after bunnies, telling stories, and just making each other laugh. I don’t know if I was ever truly in love with him, but damn if I didn’t love that boy.

Then, whenever October 13th or December 29th rolls around, I think about the boy with Hawaii in his veins. The boy whose eyes sparked at the idea of the tropics, the boy who just the glimmer of a thought saved me from derailing me. I loved him. He was my first true love, and when he talked of seeing me in that white dress, thinking “love” like it had a question mark trailing after it like a tail, it always dragged me back to places I’ve been. Bluffs I’ve stood on, trails I’ve walked down, trucks I’ve ridden in, dates I’ve gone on. I thought of the future, but it always ended up as some joke on me. My insecurities riddled me when he was being sincere. When I was being sincere, he turned it all into a joke, yet still I have a love for him that never fades. It may change size or scope, but it doesn’t fade.

And that’s just two. I think of the girl with the eyes that had flecks of gold (when she told me mine had flecks of silver), the vicious fights with sanity. I think of the boy who broke me time and time again and whipped me around like a tornado. The boy who towered over everyone and broke my heart time and time again. I think of the man who still asks what my eyes look like right before I kiss someone.

My love and I were talking the other night, and he told me how he doesn’t think of people if they’re out of his life. I tried telling him about the ghosts, the loves that were, and it all falters short. In my poetry book, I’ve written a poem about the memories, the ghosts, and I guess those ghosts are quivering awake.

Those ghosts sometimes keep me awake at night.

I’ve been sick lately, and I guess with illness, comes introspection.




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