Cracks in the Ceiling

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Sometimes at night, I’ll begin to count the scattered cracks that weave a path across my bedroom ceiling.
Not to pass time, but because I know you would do the same if sleep refused to come.
It's so strange.
Now that you’re gone, I must play the role of both lovers;
I must create a false warmth to press against the side of my body as if you are there beside me...
The missing part of my soul taken away with you lingers outside my window,
Breathing its frosty breath against the glass
And writing taunting words by cutting its way through the cold mist.
Once, I drew a heart against that same mist, thinking I could heal myself in a sense.
But the sun had its own score to settle with me, and so it melted my falsified hope away with the dawn.

I try to focus on the good that was once in us;
The feeling of your cheek against mine as you whispered softly in my ear, your arms enclosed around my body in a protective, yet yielding way.
How you managed to smell like both summer and winter, and how you always wore the same golden cross around your neck, your hand idly wandering up to it when you were anxious.
The way you walked a little too fast
The way you narrowed your eyes whenever you were thinking
And the way you somehow knew whenever I entered a room; your lips pulling apart and revealing the smile I knew even better than my own.

You became my best friend as the years went on; a constant in my life I never feared of losing.
Even now, I feel your fire burning within me, urging me on in this life that is hardly livable without you.
Maybe sometime in the future we will meet again-
I will wish this with all of my being; I will write it in the mist until not even the sun has the energy to melt it away
And I will dream of it until every last flaw in my ceiling has been accounted for.





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Mrs. G. said...
Mar. 5, 2010 at 4:55 pm
Sadie -- Accounting for every crack in the ceiling is such a perfect way to visualize the pain of loss, the memories that live in our heads especially before sleep or upon waking, and the time needed to put things back together. It is something everyone can see . We all stare up and ponder. You did a beautiful job with this. I loved the heart on the frosty window, and the sun's inevitable thievery. Keep writing. We need your voice!
 
Flinn said...
Feb. 25, 2010 at 8:44 am
Sadie, you are scaring me a little. How does one so young manage to convey the pain of lost love? I hope it is not from actual experience yet in your young life. Nevertheless, beautifully done. You are wise beyond your years. When does the harback come out ??? !!! Love you, F
 
mabuzick said...
Feb. 24, 2010 at 8:56 pm
beautiful imagery!! love it! <3
 
Drobts said...
Feb. 24, 2010 at 7:36 pm
Great job!!! You have a great talent.
 
aunttgc said...
Feb. 24, 2010 at 7:22 pm
Loved it. Very mature writing. Could fit many peoples lives and feelings.
 
mwgust said...
Feb. 24, 2010 at 7:11 pm
This was wonderful. Made me cry:) great job.
 
Toney said...
Feb. 24, 2010 at 4:38 pm
Beautifully written. I don't know for certain but I've heard Mario Quintana didn't like English class. He would love this poem, I bet, as do I. Kudos! I'm very proud.
 
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