(I saw this quote by Sylvia Plath:
“Some things are hard to write about.
After something happens to you,
you go to write it down, and either
you over dramatize it or underplay it,
exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones.
At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.”
And so it got me thinking and here’s what I wrote:)
THE IMPORTANT THING
The important thing was that he had died.
The important thing was that he had lived.
The important thing was what he meant to me.
The important thing was how I felt without him.
The important thing was that he made me know I could be loved.
The important thing is that it all means so much.
He is all the words I meant to say,
but couldn’t scribble them down before they slipped away.
I hit the page with the pen
at least twice before the sentence begins.
What if these words aren’t the ones that express
my meaning, making meaning meaningless?
A word at the right time is good and fine,
but one wrong sound
is even more profound,
and will put you under ground.
He makes me nervous, being new and the same,
inciting strong feelings still to be named.
Mistakes from the past have made me aware
of the loss of great things and that some are still there.
I don’t know how to take things that are said,
or how to deal with the empty bed,
and the quiet house and the sad thoughts.
I don’t want to feel things I think I should not.
But he makes me happy in ways I have missed:
the light in his eyes and the lips to be kissed,
and teasing tones
and lover’s moans
still to be heard:
saying so much without a single word.
He has disappeared,
something I now know I had always feared.
I was afraid of the risk involved,
now the problem is solved
and I can never say
to him how strongly I wish it hadn’t ended this way.
Another has come to take his place.
I find it difficult, at times, to look at his face.
I know what I lost before,
and I’m afraid to feel anymore.
The reasons are always the same not to love.
Once I receive it, I can’t get enough.
And when it’s there, it can be stripped from my grasp.
Will I be able to keep some of it at last?
The important thing is that he talks to me everyday.
The important thing is that he listens to what I have to say.
I see things in him that I valued in you.
The important thing is that I see the differences too.
I’ve learned what I like from the troubles I’ve gone through.
And nobody changes in the end.
I’ll always miss you, my love and my friend,
but days keep passing by for people like me
and if I’m not with you at least I can be
with someone like you, who’s goal in this world
is to love, and be loved by, an imperfect girl.
That is the important thing.