“It is supposed that a writer writes what he knows about and knows well. It is not necessarily so. A writer’s subject may just as well, if not more likely, be what the writer longs for and dreams about, in an unquenchable dream, in lush detail and harsh honesty.”
-Mary Oliver, from Upstream
I believed you when you said no matter what happens you’re staying. Yet when I told you how hard it would be you just wished me luck and said you’ll stay away for good. I couldn’t possibly describe how I felt. No where near. I just felt like I was drowning and you were watching me. I was mourning for the love of my life. I felt like it was the end for me. You went without saying “okay this is it, I’m going and you’re messages will never come through and I will never come back.” That’s how it sounded. You made out like I was wrong. You didn’t fight or try to fight me. You just walked away like it’s just so easy to block someone. I cried for hours. If you didn’t come back, I’d literally be dead. I love you that much. If this doesn’t speak my love for you through words, I don’t know what would.