The First Law of missing you
The First Law of missing you
According to the first law of thermodynamics, energy can neither be created nor destroyed.
So that’s what I tell myself now.
At 2 in the morning when I find myself at another Hollywood party I know you would have loved but pretended not to,
When I order two shots instead of one
When I remember just how long you’ve really been gone,
When I long for just one more hug,
Just one more chance to say goodbye.
To do it right this time.
I remind myself that you’re still here,
It’s a scientifically proven certainty,
That your energy has not departed this earth.
And that it never will.
So instead I wonder where your energy went,
And where it likes to visit.
I’d like to think every time someone smiles because of kind words I learned from you,
That is where your legacy likes to linger.
In the warm embraces I reserve for my closest confidantes,
In the glimpses where life feels like a cinematic masterpiece made just for me,
In the moments where I remember just how magical life can be with a little shift in perspective.
I cry because I know you never left.
can you help me?
Unstick me. Pull me out of the mud. Place me back on the road I know. Teach me how to be my old self again.
Unless you could:
Put me on a better road. One less traveled. I’ve already outgrown the girl in my rear view.
But, I implore you—tell me where to go. Guide me, push me, tell me what to do.
Gently caress my shoulders, tilting them in the right direction. Give me a sign, a hint, a map.
My limbs are tired of carving my own path in these winding woods, and I fear I’ve lost my compass again.
Can you teach me how to navigate? Tell me how the moss grows on the north side of the tree, tell me how to use ancient constellations as breadcrumbs that can’t be eaten away.
Tell me about heartache and betrayal. How the most I’ll ever hurt was in the office of a stranger at 17.
Tell me that the worst has passed. That only rolling clouds lie ahead.
Tell me that no one can ever mar my heart the way they did. Please, God, tell me I’ll never scream at the sky again in vain. Bargaining and pleading to undo what cannot be undone.
Tell me that I have learned. That my skin has grown too calloused to be pierced by maced words and islets of lies designed to protect me from myself.
Tell me that I can do this on my own. That I’m moving toward something better than everything that has been pulled away.
Tell me that one day I will no longer be homesick for something I never had.