In Pieces

I remember being a whole. I was proper and genuine a real joy to be with.
My face was mostly smiling, or working toward a smile.
My hands flitted and fluttered about working ahead of my conversations including all the light words escaping with light wisps of delight.
I remember being a whole woman. I was alabaster and red mixed with blush. My dresses swished and my tops flowed. I wondered about as I flowed down the street. The pedigree of my me which populated my personality and it exuded around me without the need to say a thing.
I remember loving who I was.

elitedaily_girl_crying_in_bed_6-13-2018I remember loving the thought of love and knowing what that would feel like.

I remember being a whole.
I remember meeting you.
You relished me mostly but desired some change.
Too much color but not enough thread to make your version of my art.
Let’s not do this, but start changing that.
The parts of me you liked but tweaked and over time some over bending
caused parts of me to break.
I remember together, and starting to question if I was enough.
I remember being. I remember our us. I remember feeling, but realizing that your feelings weren’t the same.
I remember trying to fix me so your picture was right.
I remember  wondering why I needed to fix me when we were together.  The list of my wrongs was growing, as I tried harder to keep up with your demands. You seemed perfect, or so you thought. Your answers required my changes.
I remember bending, I remember breaking.
The requests and frustrations seemed to build, the weight continued to hold me down.
The pieces of me slowly faded from color to slate, possibly gray, but largely not recognizable as to what was there before.
The smiles and laughter seemed like faded memories, flowers closed petals fallen.
The swagger and smiles removed. Slow steps, muddy tracks, slodden, downtrodden a personality once floating, now unable to find a place to land.
The person I was replaced by me now.
I remember that I stopped remembering.
This morning I turned over and reached out to you in our bed, the stable piece of our land where silence ruled and where I remembered who we were, or what I wished we were to be when we were new.
I remember you not being there.
I remember being something, but nothing was left to make peace with, there was no ‘me’ anymore.
I couldn’t remember, I didn’t know. The piece left wasn’t me at all.
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Morgan Werhen
Copyright 2018

 

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