To Catalina

There is an island 26 miles off the coast of California.

It's called Catalina.

A place of reality filled up with all the mystery of my last relationship.

  

I don't know how to write you-

At least into a poem.

Something about you contradicts every stroke of my pen on the page.

So I write of Catalina.

 

You asked me if there was anything I wanted to talk about,

Before we spoke that night.

If I had known that it would be the last time

I'd be your girlfriend,

Your infinity to the beyond,

The person you always picked for the slow songs...

 

I wouldn't have said no.

 

I would have reminded you about all the love letters,

and the first poem you ever wrote me.

I would have asked you about the first time you said you loved me.

I would have tried to catch your name as it slipped past my lips

For just a few moments more.

 

I didn't.

 

Instead I am shattering into a million, numb, blind-sided pieces.

Ricocheting across the year that was our life together.

Past all the promises of Catalina and the Pacific Coast.

Through every kiss, touch, moment of intimacy-

the broken pieces of me rip through the memories-

Screaming from the inside out:

What, did I let him do to me?

  

 

When I finally regain feeling in my fingers,

I put every picture of you away in a corner of my closet.

I hide every postcard and printout of Catalina.

Until the day that I can hand them to you

And walk away without shifting like the sands on the coast.

 

Each step a reminder that you ran from Catalina.

A place where ocean air met our lips touching mid-morning with fingers intertwining.

You were too scared of ocean waves coming up to greet you.

My love seemingly overwhelmed you.

  

But you were the one who said you loved me.

 

Why couldn't you believe in that?

Why couldn't you put faith in how our eyes always met?

How everything seemed to connect?

How even though we'd never stay sleeping in the same position for long,

I could always count on you being at my side when I woke up.

 

Was our dream really so flawed at the seams that you didn't dare sail any further?

 

I was willing to follow you.

You as the captain and me the first mate.

Instead I'm the one going down with the ship,

You took the only life raft.

And still I'm waiting for you.

 

I charted stormy waters for you.

I manned this relationship when you weren’t man enough to do it yourself.

I loved you like I dreamed of being loved.

 

The crashing of waves,

The foaming of water,

The shifting of sands,

The Pacific coast,

Tearing through you and I.

A natural disaster...waiting to happen.

 

And now I stand here.

Looking West toward Catalina.

An island 26 miles off the coast of California.

My hands wide open,

Waiting for yours to once again fill the spaces between my fingers.

Knowing with every wave break,

I will be waiting a long, long, time.

Guide that inspired this poem: 

Comments

MVP-Most Valuable Poet

beautiful imagery

well said 

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