Heart Soil

Magic hour.
Sunday again. I don't mind, really.
There's something almost ethereal about this time of day, on this day in particular. All Sundays I mean, right before the day gives itself to the night.
Sometimes it can be so saddening. I feel like I may not be able to bear it. The rough shards of memories already seem to becoming translucent gossamer fine strips of fabric cut too roughly at the edges.
Of fabric torn away.
This frightens me. Today I remembered that time when we sat up all night until the hazy veil began to lift.
The duskily half lit morning I truly realised You were my best friend. As we sat by the window with my head resting in your lap & I looked into the rich ochre pool of your soft hazel eyes, I photographed You then, Us.
And I do not have You in my life right now.
Not at any length at least. I wish you knew, how sad typing these words make me feel, I wish You knew how I pine & lament for You. I don't want to hurt so bad, I don't want to feel like a sack of broken glass that needs to be handled preciously lest a rough hewn splinter jar painfully to the surface. But it doesn't stop.
And this? This terrifies me. I don't wanna be stuck anymore. I don't want to yield to the churning quagmire that draws me in the more I struggle. I want to be free of it.
Was I wrong not to fight for You?
Should I have I wailed & indignantly hollered & begged You not to go? You seemed so resolute, that I felt I should just have given it to You.
I hope someday my diplomacy will stand to me.
If I may though?
It's a grand notion to have truly loved someone.
I mean truly connected with someone on such a conscious level.
And that, that I'll keep. Warm & nurtured & cared for like a tiny seed. Until it shows a shoot through the fractured soil of my tilled heart.