gemini woman

i miss your sanity.

the sound of the vacuum in the hallway on sunday mornings. the smell of coffee at 6 am. the vivid expressions in your eyes as you told a story in great detail. the warmth of your smile.

i miss your sanity.

before you were overtaken, like an encumbered mule on a hot, desert road, you finally gave in to the burdens of your past and were swallowed hole. the vacuum stopped, the coffee cold.

i miss your sanity.

i hate the way my jaw clenches when i think of it. i hate the way i keep pretending it will go back to normal. i cling so tightly to the "normal" days that i am battered by the new-normal days, the every day where your words are a box cutter and my existence a canvas for you to rip open, pour over, and destroy.

i miss your sanity.

i took reliability for granted. i took love and support for granted. despite repeated utterances of thanks and praise, you were still torn from yourself and the two halves of your whole are divided; and the familiar side disappears, like a shroud or a veil, you are no longer who i knew.

For every yesterday lives tomorrow, but in between exists such an insatiable hunger for stability that never existed. Fickle is nostalgia; our sweet and loving brains could never undrestand that the moments of unbridled joy are no longer reality and never have been. But rather, reality is something stuck on repeat as history plays itself again and again, in a much less public space.