"All that I know is that I don't know how to be something you miss." Prompt Poem (052015)
There are still some songs that I can not help but skip when they play on shuffle.
No matter what I’m in the middle of, I will always find the time to switch to a song that doesn’t remind me of the memories we shared that are now lonesome in reaction.
I didn’t realize that I was in love with you, until I realized that there were 87 songs that I wasn’t allowed to listen to in full. We made moments of 87 pieces of music. We created love to about 45 of those symphonies. And the rest we fucked to. There was never a dull moment within the interconnection of beats.
There was a thousand and 71 heart beats shared at the same exact moment between the both of us. A thousand and 71 times I noticed that the music had faded and the sound of our hearts
like little drummer boys, beating the same tune, simultaneously,
we were intertwined and codependent within rhythms of the music that made the moments to the life we lived as one
and my god it was the most beautiful piece of art I had ever witness.
To the point being where I was in awed by the beauty that we had created together and wasn’t completely sure that I was worthy of experiencing such harmony.
I was in love with you.
Had not realized that with every beat of every rhythm of each song that ever glazed in our background, I was falling a little farther into the art of you.
It has been 3 months since I realized that I lost you.
That your heart was hearing the sound of another persons music sheet and vibrating to their rhythms.
I watched as you fell in love with the idea of someone that I could never fall into.
You were the first woman to ever leave my side taking the first step.
I was always the one gone first.
Never fall in love with a poet like me.
It was my mistake to think that my art was the one to create downfall.
You painted a beautiful picture of needed reconstruction and I was too busy trusting that we could build to the top, to realize that you were crumbling into yourself and the ground underneath me.
I didn’t want to look down.
And now, a few hundred miles, one heart migrated to another record player, and a thousand and 71 songs later. I’m laying on the ground, with broken records and a still a little acing heart, thinking.
All that I know, is that I don’t know how to be something you miss.
And what a damn shame,
that music will never be the same.