I thought it's May again, this is the ninth May without you. Time passed very slowly at first, now it goes walking briskly, gnawing through the days as fast as a hamster does its seeds. Some things I struggle to remember, some things are sharp and still burn, the point is that I continue not to be ready. I still can't breathe properly, fear prevents me from doing so. It would be nice to take the deepest breath without feeling that dry ache where once there was love...and I don't know when this will really end. It's the ninth May without you and for years I've realized how fragile our love was, me too in love, you too good at destroying.
The promises you made to me were just words, mere words without any meaning, said to who knows how many others. I would have liked to read in your eyes at least once one of those words, but they were only on the tip of your tongue, poisonous and lascivious like the most perfect of deceptions.
I haven't forgiven you anything, not even that kiss on your ankle that had moved me so much, a perfect gesture of absolute tenderness that never left your heart.
They ask me where you bleed when your heart crumples, oh I know... it is on that ankle that I feel the most excruciating pain I have ever known, the deepest abyss into which I have fallen, and all the words that came after have become just as deadly, hated and shunned.
It's the ninth of May without you and without me, that I've stayed behind looking for the pieces and haven't found them yet.
[©Yelena b.]
Written by me on May 2020
Pics belong to me
Thanks for reading
