For When You Remember Nothing: I Wish You Love
I wish you love, and all the feelings that make you whole.
I wish you love that fills the hollow of your chest.
I wish you love with no thorns,
like the ones that pricked me
when I reached for Eden
and mistook the ache for sanctuary,
as your silence once cleaved me open in inches.
I wish you no bitter recollections,
no echoes of nights squandered
feeling nothing, while I drowned
in the quiet aftermath of abasement.
I wish you no empty arms,
no regrets curled beside you in beds
where neither names nor beauty
hold power enough to gather dust—
when you whisper, or reach,
searching for meaning in what’s left of life.
I wish you joy,
true and unguarded,
the kind that steals your breath
and weakens your knees,
but not from sorrow.
And when all the loves you desired
have left your hair grey and frail
and your bones brittle,
may you never look back
on how I made you feel
when I held you through the drought,
once upon a time.
For all the fortunes in the world
could never
buy back the way I bled beauty
into the space
you refused
to feel.
Leave the daggers; do not pull them out.
I am cloaked in peace.
I wish you love,
and all the happiness
you denied me.
I wish
you
love.
