Fiction

I miss you. I miss you a lot, I miss our life, I miss what I thought we had, I wish there was a way to put it back to what I thought it was going to be, but it was never that, never was going to be that and it breaks my heart every moment. I lived a very long lie, I dreamed a dream, smokey haze of fantasy, and the daylight is bright, harsh and blinding, brash bold truth crashing into my broken dream. Alone without you feels like a phantom limb, but the limb I never had, was never born with, for you are not you, I am not I, we never were the we that I had dreamed, the we that I had wanted, the we we pretended so hard to be. We were a sketch of the thing, a pencilled outline, a watercolor, edges running together, smeared charcoal, resembling a portrait but then not, smudged inky blurred lines between what was, and what I wanted it to be. How I lived for so long in that haze? How I dreamed so deeply of the thing that was never to be. Were you ever who you said you were? Was I? And now, faced with my new reality, my new me, the me that I truly am, how do I look back lovingly? How do I look back with compassion? Without hate for the story, the lie, the fiction? Without hating myself, hating you. Robbed of so much love, so much life. Half life. Shadow life. I live now, in the sunshine, in the real light, in the real life. It is not the same, not the smeared approximation of what I wanted. I live the truth now. My truth, so much less, and yet so much more. Where are you in this life? Where am I. Is there a place for you here? How I wish for you to be real to steal back to the days when you loved me. How I miss you. But there is no you there no me there just a pile of boxes and lies and fiction. Today there is no story to tell no web of fantasy no smoke no mirrors but light and truth and my heart leaps bounds sails flies with the gossamer thin sheen of reality. I conceal nothing hide myself nowhere speak no half truths live no fiction but the ache is real I mourn what I never had what I have now truth