The Things I Love And Cannot Hold

Evening falling -
a soft lamenting
sounds in the bird calls I have summoned. Greyish walls
tumble down.
My own hands
find themselves again. What I have loved
I cannot hold.
What lies around me I cannot leave Everything declines while darkness rises.
Nothing overcomes me -
this must be life’s way.

-"Weariness" by Hannah Arendt

Melancholy suits us.
See where her words take you

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I cannot hold your hand. I cannot hold your heart's flutter. I cannot hang my arms around your shoulders and laugh in your ear. I cannot hang on to these things I've loved. I cannot hold on to our dream destroyed. Because I'm not sure it was ever more than that. A dream. We dreamed it desperately.

I mourn so dearly our dream. The house you would rebuild for us and the tree houses you promised--one for us and one for the kids. A series of homes on a small plot of love. I mourn the dogs we'd name after deadwood characters. I mourn our daughter Willa and our son Cecil. I dreamed her your handyman and him our writer. Both musical. I mourn the nights we would embarrass them slow dancing in the kitchen and the fights we'd have about how young they could be for their first dirt bike. I mourn your face when you held your child for the first time. I mourn your hair a grey, curly mess. I mourn you holding me as I cried when our youngest left for school. I mourn the way you'd caress my stretch marks and smile at me at our daughters wedding. And whisper in my ear, "we did good kiddo." I mourn the way you'd cry when we buried the dog by the oak tree and the way you'd argue with our son about his mortgage. I mourn the front porch spring that would hurt our aging hips and the doctors appointments that would punctuate our senescent lives. I mourn your belief in this dream of a life lived in tandem. These are the things I loved. And I will never hold them.

I can hold your picture. I can hold your pain. I can hold your love. I can hold the memory of you gagging on a hot banana and the time you wrote me that tragic song. I can hold the time you kissed me against red rocks and the time you decided tofu wasn't terrible. I can hold your toes laced with mine and your hands in my hair. I can hold each hair on your body and each regrettable tattoo. I hold your gaze against my skin and your heart beating against my chest.

I don't know what your love means anymore that you could not stay. But I try to hold it nonetheless. It lies around me and I cannot leave. I cannot leave your love behind and it holds me here. I suffer. It cinches me like a vise grip, and every time I try to loosen it with some sweet self love, I cannot. I feel like I'm lessening your love's hold on me. I cannot leave your love. Though it comes with bitter grief. So I am caught here in your love's grip. It is too tight to breathe but too important to leave.