Hi, my name is Alaina. I am not a poet. My favorite color is blue. I grew up between two places. Without a sense of which place was mine. With a sense that neither could ever be mine. I use the word home like a cloak. Like a common space. Lying in plain sight. That I was not while I was. Some day I will write all the things that make sense in the spaces that we share, but until then.

Sometimes I say the things I do not mean. Sometimes I think the things I do not say. I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still. -Sylvia Plath

I wrote this for you.

My dad says there is greediness in our pleasure. He says there is a recklessness in our love. He says I will never be who I want to be if I don’t stop. If I don’t let my impulses rest. He says I use my best judgment until.

Words push us and pull us. They weave us together.

If you had come, I would have read. If you had arrived, I would have been. If you had showed I would have shared. If you had walked in I would have said the thoughts I think to you when I’m around. Close. Cerca de.

I wasn’t sure before… I know now for sure.

I’m still waiting. I wait. I wait.

Will you tell me what I’m waiting for?

I’m waiting for you not to show. I’m waiting for your absence. I’m waiting to stop expecting you. I’m waiting to stop knowing you.

When Richard died, I dreamed of sitting in a white waiting room. I waited with him in the waiting room. We stood outside the door. Our backs to the wall. I knew what he was waiting for. I knew what we were waiting for. I knew what was on the other side of that white door in that white room where the most vivid sensation was the red color of his sweatshirt and the pink of his shredded skin.

My dad says I don’t have to react to my immediate reaction. Knowing is enough. My dad says I can be more than him if I just do this one little thing. If I just heed this one advice.

I will never tell you, but I’m telling you now, I don’t regret waiting but I’m getting up and leaving. I know we both want things on our own time but the fact is at some point you have to look at someone else’s watch. At some point you have to ask someone else for the time, just to be polite. Because that is the last point you will realize you were wrong.

My alarm goes off and I greet it warmly because I know I’m one day closer to forgetting you. To removing you from this. From that part of my brain that waits for you in the waiting room that is called Near and Dear. Cerca.



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