What Pain Looks Like

17 episodes of Seinfeld,

I couldn’t even repeat a single line.

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Asking the universe to show me a red sock if I’ll be happy tomorrow,

And a yellow sock if I won’t be,

But the only ones that pass me by are white.

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Saying things like,

“I’ll be ok,”

“I’m fine,”

“I’m so much better off,”

And then crying into my keyboard.

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Not going out on a Saturday night,

Because, “I’m recovering.”

But it’s not from a trip,

Or a week at work,

It’s so much bigger than that.

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It’s making elaborate meals because all I have is time,

But eating pretzel sticks for dinner instead.

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Struggling to come up with three unique things I’m grateful for,

Each morning in my journal.

Instead,

Just feeling sad, because I know you’re sad too.

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It’s mourning all the mornings I woke up,

After crying myself to sleep,

While you were still in our bed.

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Buying myself endless things I don’t need,

Just to make myself feel beautiful,

Because you never told me I was.

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It’s remembering when you were leaving for the final time,

And I thought, “I will always love you,”

As you said,

“I’ll go back to hating you.”

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I finally feel my body,

I’m hyperaware.

How heavy it is,

They say the body keeps the score.

[I won’t be winning stuffed animals any time soon]

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I sit in the pain,

Walk in it,

Run in it.

I keep going to the ends of the earth,

But instead of doing it for you,

I’m taking myself there instead.

< 

We had years of opportunities to get it right,

But never did.

Who knows?

Maybe,

I can do it on my own,

In half the time.