Dirty grieving

 

I stole glances at your face as my world came crashing. I am sorry, I whispered as I began walking out. 

I understood that time couldn’t change anything. I felt the grieving process that you carried for so long, but I couldn’t stay anymore. 

You promised you’d let go of her. 

I was waiting year after year to watch you remove the frames that held her images and perhaps, put in your last grieve by giving your respect and acknowledging my presence. 

The time never came. 

I really can’t continue to stay as I no longer desire the man that grieves this much in my space. 

I am becoming a replica of the table; I am just there until you need a place to bring your arms. 

I must admit that I really can’t continue to listen to you about how she might be feeling. 

And I hate to say, but she is gone. 

Far gone, she is dead and no longer with us. I doubt that you don’t know. 

Because you are not in denial of her passing on. You just long for the memory of her existence. 

For all these years, I stood and understood every moment you couldn’t lace your shoes without thinking about how she did it with you. And that day I knelt by your feet to fill her gap, I thought it’d be satisfying for you to know that I could give all I have. 

   But 4 years have passed and this ring I wear doesn’t make you mine. 

You are grieving in a dirty manner, you are bleeding heavily on me. It has made me realize that not all who lost their first rib should find another. 

    And I should apologize to myself for every time I felt the need to be like her to make you be at peace, for my action didn’t earn me my place, neither did it bring her back.