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#loss

written by: Lucreția Lixandru

 

every smile feels
like I'm cutting my skin,
my muscular fiber
to reach the bones

every tear feels
like a midnight confession
made to a stranger
that disappears right after
my last sentence, as in a dream

every look at the surroundings
screams that this life is fake
and incomplete. and every night
reminds me that pain is my best friend,
the one who never leaves my side.
no, even if I beg for it.

every day is just another quest
in the attempt to find what I've lost.
and at the end of the day, nothing hurts more
than the kind last words that remained,
a fade shadow of us, a cynical legacy of yours,
the sharp reminder of my weakness.

and if only I knew how,
I'd surrender myself in less than a blink
of a kind eye, with golden reflections.
but it's too late for this. I cannot
be the obedient woman that
allows you to have the last word
and the first touch, the one
who's gonna lead the way for two,
and I regret it. But too late.

by now I've remained
to lead the way, but
I walk this road alone,
just me, my pain and my scars.
some say it's not
the kind of road you walk otherwise,
that you gotta do it all
by yourself. and every tear is a stone
put on your bridge to something else,
a clear and sharp ingredient
of a dark, painful, unpredictable metamorphosis

but you can't build something
without sacrifice. and this
metamorphosis was payed with soul.
I've lost almost all, and still
I manage to wake up.

I've lost my smile. with every smile
I am a bit farther away from
the real smiles I used to share
with all around me, all the time.
I've lost my hope that I'd recovered,
that I would be myself again,
the same self that felt like reigning
above the world, life, and death
while holding your hand.
but hope is for the weak, you said...
does the lack of it make me strong,
or am I just a human being that
became so blind that it can't see
a chance for goodness or the meaning
of staying alive?

and I would ask for forgiveness,
if only I could.
and I would promise obedience,
but I know I would lie.
there's nothing left for me in this story,
other than walking day by day
in the labyrinth of pain, guilt, and regret.
but it's too late and too far for regrets, or
for the hope of making things right again.
now I'm leading the way on the path
that I walk by myself, and I struggle with
every breath not to drown myself in the pain
the truth has reached my bones,
and this is less than a game.

I grieve, and on my language
healing is a Babylon I'm silently walking towards,
one day at a time, one night washed with tears
at a time, yet happiness
still has your touch imprinted on it,
and the sound of your voice in the morning
remains the messenger of the good times
that are to come. I'm grieving,
and knowing you're so far away,
seeing you're becoming a stranger
that has no reason to walk this path with me
breaks every single part of the soul
that is still standing.

why are you so broken?
try to look in the mirror, ask yourself,
and then, when you find the answer, go back
and ask yourself again: "why is she so broken? what I've done?"

and if you cry, if only one tear comes
to your eyes
that made me once upon a time
to lose myself in a blink of them,
then you'll know. and you would've found
your way back to what was our lost
paradise, a loss so expensively paid,
and I'll be there, trying to force the gate,
to climb the walls,
towards our long already lost
paradise made of love, and trust
and guilt, and broken promises and pain. but...are you ever going to return?

Lucretia Lixandru

Lucretia Lixandru

Young Romanian artist, in love with literature, big cities, cat, coffee, and people. I either write about mental health-related topics, or poems, exploring my femininity and feelings. I've studied Anthropology and Psychology, and these only made me fall in love with the arts and the people more.
Lucretia Lixandru

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