Catharsis

Drop by drop,
He had sensed
That she was
Seeping through
The cracks in their relationship.

But his heart had refused
To acknowledge
This subtle escape…
Until it was too late.

Guilt, embarrassment
And doubt
Bled from him
When she finally,
Physically left,
Attesting with certitude
And complete,
Cold truth…

He was never good enough for her.

Empty,
Alone,
Anguish seized his soul…
Holding him under,
Wanting to drown him
In the brutality
Of the now.

It was all he could do to breathe.

There was no one to talk to
About this pain…
Nor did he want to,
As it choked his means to speak,
Unable to vocalize his hurt.

And so…
Alone…
He did all he knew to do…

He wrote…

Not understanding why,
But sensing that doing so
Was his only refuge
From this prison of loneliness.

This was no time for the
Expediency of electronics.
He wanted neither keyboard,
Nor the means to print,
Scan,
Or fax thousands of copies.

This was not for social media.

This was not for family.

This was not for friends.

This writing was for him,
And with its process
A hopeful release
From his failure
And grief.

Cotton parchment…

Ink pen…

And quiet,
Were all he needed.

This was a final letter to her,
Neither forgiving her,
Nor accepting her departure…

Simply one last moment in time
To profess to her,
His love,
To this very day,
And wish her the best.

As that 14 carat gold-tipped nib
Plowed a furrow across that parchment,
Its tiny, split point
Spread,
Seeping black ink
From its reservoir
To that letter.

The more he wrote,
The more he felt that seepage
Of ink…
Similar to the
Seepage,
Just as she had left him…
Not noticeable in the instant,
But over time,
Conveying clearly,
A message.

What he found as well
Was that as that nib
Struck a path across that parchment,
Not only was it taking ink
From his pen,
It was taking hurt from
His heart.

The more he wrote,
The more release he felt.

And when finally done,
His feelings
To her
Concluded…

He understood,
And acquiesced to
His loss.

The healing had
At last
Begun.

And he yielded to
The release
And willingness to move forward.

Though she was gone,
He was still in his life.

And with this writing to her,

He finally found
Comfort.

He finally

Found complete…

Catharsis.

 

 

© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

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