How can it take this from me

Each morning

No better than the last

But different from before

One option has been removed

Symptoms replace each other

Gnawing thoughts

Unbearable, repeated inaction

How to continue

Unclear

Without stopping

Even a second

A kaleidoscope of grey

Fragmenting

Ever bleaker

A shattered order

--

--

I hope it's satisfying that I still can’t sleep

that is the impact you've had

Your image colonizes my brain cell by cell

warm and conflicted

Regret, angst, longing, nostalgia

under your control

I miss you but it's unsatisfying

I’m grateful and hurt

and part of me is ok with not sleeping easy

The results of this relationship have left me with a permanent mark

whether it is a scar or a tattoo I cannot decide

but it will remain regardless… you will remain

--

--

red wine, I’m high, your smiling. A lot

You laugh. You just exude happiness

all the more impressive because I know it’s not easy

how do You make it look easy

it’s like drugs

I, still at times, get nervous around You

anxiety born from disbelief

I don’t know what to do when it’s good

and You’re good

simple as

how do You manage, to make the night feel like the day

I didn’t choose You, although I wish I had

love is this way I guess, warm and comforting and emotional and unending.

it does instill fear in me

fear of loss

fear of the inevitable

fear I can ignore because it is all the more motivation to enjoy our time

--

--

I want to tell you something

but I’m afraid you’ll realize my nightmare

the worst case

I wrote that stanza, just above, 8 months ago

it still haunts me

I wanted to tell you I loved you

Each time we parted

on the phone

or in person, or just said goodnight

I held my tongue

Consciously making a decision not to express

the true sentiment I felt and so anxiously wanted to share

This seems to me like a worthwhile regret

I tell myself

It feels like I was, in a sense, untruthful

Like you deserved to know how I felt

In such clear terms

Yet for months I held my tongue

and eventually denied myself the opportunity

to be truthful to you at all

I will not make this mistake again should I be lucky enough to be in a similar position

--

--

if it helps to know

I’ll do my best

not to let you get to me

but you will

and I’ll think of nice things

and doing them for

and with you

bottles of wine

too late at night

darts

I'm shit at darts

unplugging the string lights

the old guitarist

the piano

leaving through the side door, shouldn't have left

Constant disbelief

I’ll remember feeling lucky

every goddamn second

the luckiest

I must've been

And I’ll remember, painfully

fear

of expression

of loss

of belief

and what I got from it

Hope is fickle

I’m not hopeful

grateful though

I don't think I could be more grateful

I didn't know time could pass so peacefully

--

--

emptiness and something else

emptiness

generally apt

a fair description

my emotions grey

beige

shifting slowly

from almost one

to almost another

and,

splash

a ripple here

a ripple there

things still hurt

but the colors are brighter

more full

living

not hollow

I'm reeling

but still

I maintain a place

where it all just looks nice

pastel blue and orange

to cover the dark red

it's hard to draw a line

to say what hurts

nice things hurt

colorful and alive

they bring a warm pain

Thoughts of you

hurt

not alone

they sting in harmony

with immense pleasure

fond memories

written in stone into my psyche

shouting at me, remember the good

“you gained something from this loss”

each moment

reiterating pleasantry

--

--

like when the music cuts out in a movie

and the camera zooms in on one character's face

just as they are having some important thought

we hear it narrated

that kind of stop

for no reason

maybe as a result of tiredness

exhaustion which I didn't earn

sometimes it all must stop

I suppose

unconsciously maybe I just can’t keep up

with emotion

rumination

responsibility

there’s just a little kid up in my head after all

most of the time he's unprepared

--

--

Spencer Healy

I go to university, I’m a struggling optimist. some of these are proper narrative pieces and some are more poetry, others lean towards stream of consciousness.