For days each morning starts
with wiping away the salty river bed
across my face
Dried tears I’d never allow to escape
during the day
make their break during the night
I don’t remember them leaving
I don’t remember letting them go
But their path is there each day
Telling me more than any conversation
ever can.
I’m good at writing about the sad things
the bad things
It’s easy to find the words to describe the dark and lonely times and parts of my mind
But why can’t I find words for the light?
Why can’t I find words to describe how much
I long for your touch,
or the feeling when your arms tighten around me while you sleep?
How do I even begin to start
writing the peace I feel listening to your heart?
Or how it feels when you look at me, touch me, or say my name?
How do I describe how grateful I feel
knowing that you, the one I dreamed for, are real?
No matter how many times I begin
the words are never right in the end.
No words can convey how happy I am.
I’ve had a life of writing the dark things, and I never learned the words for the good.
My only option is to continue to try and find
a collection of words worthy of this man of mine.
©C O’Connor, 2018
The Rant 