I haven’t written because I haven’t known what to write. I haven’t known what to say because panic and fear and uncertainty will not let me out of their grip. Not to think, to breathe, to decide, to be.

I do not know how to be ok.

I do not know how to fix the mess that I am in.

I do not know how to get home, or how to survive this.

I do not know how to pass my days, or my nights.

I do know that it is ok to not know.

I am grateful for each and every comment that I receive on this blog.

Somedays, your words are the only thing that I “hear” outside of the constant thud of this broken heart of mine.

Thank you.

I love him.

I do not know how to stop loving him.

I do not know how to love him and to know that it’s over. I think it’s best that I do not talk about what is happening on here, he knows about this site, he loved my words, I do not want to splay the ugliness between us all over these pages. I do not want to make this harder or uglier than it needs to be.

In my about page, I say that I want a permanent record. I want to wear the death of this thing, this love, this hope, this future, this possibility, on my self like a scar. I want to say that I love him. That I love every memory, every flaw, every story, every secret, every mistake that makes him who he is. I want to say that I believed, believed, that I would grow old with him. And instead, I am presented with a lesson in impermanence, in a new kind of loss, in acceptance, that is, most heartbreakingly of all, now of my own choosing.

Somewhere, somehow, I lost my voice. We lost our song. I am so fucking sorry that that has happened. I am so fucking sorry that I was looking the other way as we unravelled.

I don’t know how to leave, how to be without, the person that I have loved best.

I do not know how to sit with this sadness.

Broken Heart by bored now

“this situation is starting to make me love you less”

“i am starting to care for you less”

I am also writing on

PIFFLE.

Come see.

I am

footballs scars and sailing in the dark.

I am

orphaned boys and crisp white shirts.

I am

unopened doors and delicately purple wrists.

I am

cold water fury, the distance of missing pieces.

I am

your tongue in my mouth, your sighs on my chest,

the memory of your exhalation.

I am bound in you.

I wear you on my sleeve.

Each of you.

Photograph by Kent Barrett

Nothing lasts forever so sing me to sleep and dance me round the apple tree.

Careful though, it’s lost it’s leaves and one of it’s branches will scrape along my thinnest skin. I’ll bleed and you will scoop me up in your arms and carry me inside. You will feed me cupcakes and tease away my hurt. I’ll wear the loveliest, palest scar – only my most observant lovers will notice. They will trace their fingers over my eyelids and ask their questions and I will explain what I don’t quite understand.

Argue with me to teach me how to fight. Sting my legs with nettles. Buy me books for Christmas and birthdays. Take me to movies you will sleep through after you’ve eaten all the chocolate while I’m figuring out the plot. I wont be able to keep the books but I’ll save the empty chocolate packets.

Play your music late at night, head bowed low, crying over something I’ll never know. I’ll come to you when I recognise the mournful sound of your clarinet.

Take the dog for a run at the oval, ruffle my hair as you jog past the gate and let me know that I wont end up fractured. She’ll pick your favourite flowers the day after you leave.

Approve of me. Admire me. You’ve been dead too long and I’m needy.

Nothing lasts forever, skin to skin and hand to heart. Mine. Yours. I know because I’m the one that told you to go.

Take me to the beach at night to watch the rats scramble through summer’s leftovers, paint my fingernails pink and remind me to be careful of how I love.

Teach me to sign my name and buy me love hearts to wear in my hair when I can no longer find my own.

Come sit with me for awhile. One more time. Here, where neither of us belong. Love me. I am my father’s daughter and have been all along.

Whisper to me, remind me, that nothing lasts forever, ‘and that my love’s the truth‘.

Photograph by Steffe