Dear ...

To myself, as the writer, this poem has a double meaning. As the reader I want you to feel what is written because I know you have been there to. xxox.

I stand here waiting, staring at the transparent window feeling alone. I look at myself in the glass and see only a blurry, pastel reflection. Thinking about why you left and wondering who replaced me. It is too much. Opening the window, I thrust my head into the tempestuous night. Drip-drop the pattering drum of the heavy rain beats me down. Water seeps through my tussled hair, and flows down my face mingling with tears. The salty, oily liquid invades my mouth. It is too much. I slam the window shut and kill the light. The ponderous silence in my dark room is my only focus; the total absence of sense. But intruding into my mournful solitude, I feel my heart pounding. Through my chest, the rhythmic thumping became a roaring echo inside me, ceaseless screaming meaningless words. The pain became consuming, feasting on my soul. I was stronger than this, a lot greater than him but I was losing to his war. The silky pajamas weights heavy upon my skin and the furry housecoat is a straight-jacked holding me prisoner. The night seems endless and safe, but at its end dawn will come. My aching heart will mend, my sagging spirit will rise. Losing him will not define me, it will not confine me, it is time to let him go.