If No One Heard It, Did It Happen?

If no one heard it, did it happen?

If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?

(The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab)

Proof of my existence:

I am my unmade bed

My week old unfolded laundry that was Fresh once

I am the disappointment in my mothers eyes

And the scars I have left on lovers and strangers

I am my clothes I have donated

And my compilation of pintrest boards the innocent scroller will accidentally stumble across

I am the the jokes I penciled into the walls of my middle school bathroom stall

I am the dust I leave behind

Dead skin cells, reminder that they were living once

I was living once

I had once had the pleasure of laying my palm against the surface of something tangible and it felt the contact as much as I did

I am the peices of myself I have left scattered in the people I have let hold me

Long enough for parts of me to become caught under their fingernails and in their eyelashes

I am not my mistakes

But I am their consequences

I am shrapnel scars left by the promises I shattered

I am the pastries I have bought

My coin accumulating into something greater than it once was

And in that small way I make someone's dream a reality

And in that small way I am immortalized

I am the corners of novel pages I have folded

And the sentences I have left highlighted and the notes I have scrawled in its margins

I am the half finished stories I wrote in the 6th grade

I am my poetry

And the things I have discarded

I am my clouded breath dancing on the cold wind momentarily before dissipating

As it becomes one with the ether forever adrift

And in that small way I am immortalized

I am my embarrassing childhood photographs

I am the energy you spent on me and the time you wasted on us

I am the things I have created but perhaps more the absence left in the wake of the things I have destroyed

I am the stains I have left and the sins I have committed

Out of spite, out of desperation, frivolously or unwittingly.

I am the way my name burns yours tounge when your mouth tries to wrap itself around its pronunciation and the scalding memories

I am

I was

here.

And I

Let the quiet of the night devour me

Let the darkness feast upon me

(As though they crave even the crumbs

Of what remains of my existence)

And I find myself laying awake,

(Patiently)

Waiting

For them to come for me

Because it is in these moments

That I feel most desired

And even if I dissipate this way,

(Slowly consumed night after night),

Atleast I will fade

Unafraid

And

Feeling

Wanted

"Just

Tell me

The truth.

I promise

I won't

get

upset."

It is a lie, of course.

But everyone wants

The truth,

Until they have it.

As it is always so much more gruesome,

Than one could have imagined.

I do not blame you

For becoming angry

For the truth is an infuriating thing.

~reflections on the gentle falsehoods that have never turned me away and the untruths that have always made room for me to believe when I had no where else to go

Fridge light starlight. Coupled with moonshine beams sifted through apartment blinds. Bare feet, barer legs, band t-shirt ball gowns. Cool hard wood floor only staining the tips of our toes because we are mostly floating. Teetering on the cusp of forever. I promise i won't let you fall (unless you ask me to). Come a little closer, little miracle, and let me warm the tip of your nose with everything I cannot say. Butterfly kisses that leave nectar residue on your cheeks, the syrup gently trapping dreams drifting through the ether. Swaying to a melody you hum already half asleep on my shoulder. I hold a galaxy in my arms and feel both infinite and so so small.

Wishes made over milk and cookies, too many to count,  all of them tasting like childhood. Crumbs of innocence litter the tiles of the kitchen floor. Sticky fingers and bottomless appetites giving way to eternity. Giggled promises made under comforters muffled in pillowcases. They absorb our whispers into their threads, keep us warm long after the chill of silence settles us. We say little. Listen to our heartbeats. Melt into the darkness. Become constellations. Hold the universe between us in our cupped palms as we drift away. Wake to find we have suffocated it as we slept.

~There will always be more poems for you, my love ♡

Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.