The Letting

 

There is a siphoning. 

  I am plastered to my bed, energy leaking into bedsheets; 

 Can't find the strength to peel myself away. 

Today, 

  As many days, 

Many days in his orbit. 

  It has become a black hole, 

Unbearably extraneous 

  To gravitate away from. 

  A spiritual letting, 

His drink poured all over me. 

 His tears tugging upon my own. 

His desperation, drowning me. 

 A refusal to let go...

And I can't tell if it is killing us both, 

  Or just me; 

Just the work I have done. 

Just the work I have in front of me. 

He moves to kiss me, 

  And I turn away from him. 

Begs to hold me, so I let him 

  with a walled-off soul. 

It has become unsafe to love him; 

  This I know. 

  This I know. 

But he won't let go.

If I had the heart needed, 

  A heart objective and cold

Then none of this would be. 

Instead, what I am, is what he knows. 

Loving. A push over. 

  Weak to his pain; weak to my causation of it. 

But....

  Nothing....

and I mean NOTHING...

  Is the same anymore. 

I may love him...

  But I can not stand 

    Can not sit

    Can not "Be"

In his presence 

Without it utterly 

Siphoning me. 

A letting. 

To give him what he needs, even still; 

  I have had to glaze over my soul

    Shun my heart

      Drink. 

I listen silently, ambivalently

  through his roused monologues of stories

  Stories I couldn't care less to hear...

Because I don't 

  Don't 

Have the heart to tell him

  To leave. 

I think he knows this. 

The letting.