Recovery

You said you needed space

So I left your space and stuffed my space with your presence, 

drowned myself in the memory

of your smell, 

your smell on that old white t-shirt

I used to wear when we cuddled in bed, 

drowned myself in all the objects you left,

lifeless for you, for me breathing life into your in-existence,

left you messages when I knew you wouldn’t see them.

Stuck our photographs in the pills cupboard 

so I could reach for the placebo, 

when my heart got sick of needing. 

I am a lover of the aftermath. I tend to hold on to shadows long after bodies have gone.

***

We hold two separate pieces of the same broken mirror, 

our reflections distorted in different directions, 

we no longer seem to fit in. 

To fit in into each other the way we once did. 

Once we thought we were magnets, 

Now the only thing left is the cold empty fridge, 

now the rotten eggs next to the chocolate pudding and, 

tell me, how did we not notice

there was a dead elephant in the room

our corpses lying naked on this silent bed

where the only thing still flowing 

were the tears on my cheek

***

The tears dry out in the end. 

And is this what recovery feels like

to finally collapse 

with bloody hands on wounded knees, 

the only witness in this crime scene,

to finally realise this is not a standstill or a deadlock, 

this is murder committed right here, 

this is murder committed in front of me 

when I was too busy trying to 

lure you back in.

Is this what recovery feels like 

to learn to unlove the shadows

to learn to bury what’s dead

***

Watch 

As I let go of the shadows, 

As I carve out my own space,

for our crimes, I forgive.