Imzadi

It has been five years since I lay on our bed, wishing for my tears to wash over me and numb the pain felt in the depth of my being; allowing me to sleep forever. You left, with three boxes of your belongings and that stupid television I told you was a waste of space. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my body. Every breath ached with lonesome sharpness and I yearned for you to just return and hold me, even if your arms were of lies and deceit. Every morning, you greeted me with the stench of foul whiskey. Every night, I waited for you to come home, you never did because you were with her.

I remember you once referred to our love as the essence of Imzadi. Bullshit.

The thought of you no longer crosses my mind.  I should be happy about that but then I feel I’m betraying the rare occasions of bliss that we did experience.

The day I moved on from all that was us, I swore that I would not ever let another man make me cry or yearn for comfort that should be rightfully mine.  I lied.

Curly Miri © 2014

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One of my favourite photo’s that my sister took of me at the Auckland Botanic Gardens (maybe 2 years ago). It shows that one can always rise above the pain to breathe in beauty.

Love & laughter,
Curly Miri
(Miriama C.T.)

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