She used to be me
The joyful one who smiled and laughed,
Who was an optimist,
Hopeful for the future.
The loving one who would do anything for her loved ones.
The playful one who always had to stick her feet into water.
The mothering one who took loving care.
The dreamy one who always wanted to live by the ocean side.
The purposeful one who always had the big picture in mind,
Planning for the future
Doing what she could to make it happen.
The ambitious one who always wanted to be successful,
Being the best at what she did.
The committed one who would stick it through and stand by you.
The determined one who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The reflective one who would always question herself.
The inquisitive one who always wanted to know more,
She used to be me.
Who am I now?
Who am I now?
The one who had to let go of the love of her life.
Guiding her into the light,
When every cell and fiber of her body screamed,
No, don’t go.
Please, don’t go.
The one who had to sacrifice herself
So that her love would be freed
Of pain and suffering.
The broken one whose wings have been cut.
The torn apart one whose world is in pieces.
The destroyed one whose belief in the future is no more.
The one who has cried most every day for more than a year.
The one who lost her smile and her laugh.
The one who lost her purpose and her meaning in life.
The one who lost her belief in the future.
The one who is seeing the world through dark-tinted windows.
The vulnerable one who has been hurt one time too much.
The abandoned one who has been left behind,
By the one she loved most,
The one who vowed to always travel the same path together.
The lonely one who feels lost and hopeless.
The struggling one who would rather go than stay,
To be with her soulmate,
Wherever that may be.
In whatever form that may be.
The tormented one who has been in hell,
Stuck in the abyss of grief,
Enveloped by darkness.
Her soul in anguish.
The one craving love and hugs and kisses.
The one craving connection and company.
The one needing help and support.
The one asking questions over questions.
The one trying to find meaning in seeming senselessness.
The one trying to fill the all-pervasive emptiness.
The one trying to be responsible.
The one trying desperately to hold on, pull threw.
Not for me, but for them.
The one creating out of grief,
Writing against and through the anguish.
The one pushing the boundaries.
Making herself vulnerable.
So very vulnerable.
The one putting herself out there.
Despite her fears,
And her hurt,