The moment you realize
When I walk outside, the earth and sky thrum good morning. I know even without you, I am never alone in a world so rife with life.
I take a deep breath of the clean air. And for the first time feel like I can look back without wanting to go back, and think about all I’ve learned since leaving you for the last time.
For a long time, I had been lost in trying to reconcile myself with the world I suddenly found myself in. How can something that has all-encompassing first love, radiant sunflowers, acoustic guitar and 10-foot Pacific Ocean waves have you suddenly, one day, stiff with silence?
We were driving down this road and I remember the trees were covered in orange even though it was July. The river water was still wet on my skin, and I tried to tell you then how I wanted you. I tried to tell you that every day I woke up fighting to keep wanting you. I glanced over to the driver’s seat, mouth open to speak, only to find it was like looking through lake water, down to the murky bottom. You couldn’t hear or see me through the dirt.
Now I’m both detached and destructively yoked to a world I can’t make sense of, a world where your presence is no longer guaranteed in my life. I think everyone in love feels as though it will last forever. My most grounded moments were with you, moments that still feel unreal in my memory.
Life with you was a liquid dreamscape: sipping honey wine in the dead heat of August, walking through the grocery store throwing snacks in my basket, touching my hair and arms and nose, running through waterfalls and city streets. I have to constantly remind myself — moments of joy are not all I am destined for, even when my entire life has seemingly been defined by these subtle moments.
Dalhousie poets is a rotating column in the Gazette’s Art & Lifestyle section featuring poetry by students on various subjects. Interested in submitting your verse? Email email@example.com.