You will never know.
You’ll never hear of the sleepless nights, concoctions of thoughts brewed in memories. Poured into ink, staining sheets, finger tips tinged black by contemplation.
Sleep shrouded by worry, unwanted guest. Exiled by questions, careful patter of rain on rooftops.
And my ponderings stretch, are you okay?
Are you lying in your bed at night, are you asleep.
The clock cruelly jeers, it’s late I should rest.
Bestial and callous, a monument of time lost. I see you behind fluttering lids, like birds, wings streaked heavy by splitting heavens.
Tears.
The questions swallowed back -Flu medicine.
My finger tips reach out to trace inky promises down your jaw.
But you’re not there, I’m suffocated by silk and satin and loss.
You will realize I know.
A day where you open up your eyes to the dawning truth. That I’m not enough.
Verve of the sun, boundless galaxies contrived, a prince .
Cracked vase, pensive questions brimming, a girl.
A journey and a stop along the way.
But how long will you stay?
And when you’ll leave you’ll take all the stars and dust the sun out of existence
and I’ll be left with barren skies and crushed lungs.
Don’t go, I want to plead, but how can I be so selfish?
The sun does not yield to commands of a stalk of grass, when it can illuminate a meadow.
Oceans poured for you and mountains stooped low in bows by your presence.
All I can give are the contractions of my heart,
promises of borrowed happiness from future memories.
So I’ll close my eyes and hope, that never will a day be so cursed, to open them and see your fingers slipped through mine.
Shifting sand.
Distant memory.
Kornelija Gruodyte is a Lithuanian and Irish poet. Through her work, she delves into the unseemly, slowly unravelling the uncomfortable realities of existence. She likes to probe things that are often constrained, bringing them to life under the glaring gaze of a fresh perspective.