I got the itch for your flavor on the tip of my tongue today. The way you used to taste to me, like the really good ice cream you made yourself on a two by two pink marble slab. I still recall the surprises of tangy and sweet served up in a bowl, deep and staining, melting into every empty space within my senses, filling me ... and in the impossible October heat building in my body, I got the itch for it.
You have been gone for six months. TV wisdom and well intentioned parties say mourning a dead relationship has a pattern, a life cycle. Half the time you were ridiculously happy, you must be miserable. This painful right of passage seems too steep a price to pay just so I can grow addicted to other sights and sounds of a world flat and brand new. A planet of elements once again mine to go spinning around a moon that has survived to go on After You.
There may as well be steps, like grief. Though what I feel isn't grief, but a hunger for a taste too penetrating and unfamiliar for me now to place ... but stubborn like you are, the taste lingers. Lingers like sunshine on beloved skin that spent a Tuesday in April frolicking ill advisedly the beach front on the South Carolina shore.
So there are Red Vines in a shopping bag, the blue striped packaging friendly and familiar like you no longer are. There's satisfaction in the confection where there has only been disappointment in every smile glad to see me that isn't yours. Your flavor relinquishes it's well broken in seat for mere moments, and too soon the vine is gone. Gone to hit the emptier bottom of my insides that crave your magic. Long for any magic left in the world you're not a part of anymore.
There have been many friendly packages steadily emptied in my misery. Kind faces, unsatisfying stranger's kisses, one flavor store bought ice cream that doesn't satiate. Plenty of well intentioned somethings that do nothing to fill me. But there is hope for magic in my life as there is mystery in sea turtles finding their way back to the tiniest memory of home.
It's seven minutes past today. It's tomorrow. The fever has passed, the hunger I surpress, the somethings I put in the trash, no longer dependent on them to fill what I know they cannot. The magic I pray I find a way to return to, the tiniest memory of home emerging from the mystery of my mind to guide my way back. The hope I nourish with an openness, a gift you gave me too precious not to make a lasting part of me as I walk to flat and new, and everything After You.