Breathe

I stood there, and I took it.

The pain and the pain and the pain.

For months and years and tears and fury.

I stood while he lashed and tore and reared and raged.

Because that's what you do when you love someone.

And you see him hurting.

You see him unhinged and confused and afraid.

And you stay and you watch and you hope and you pray.

And you despair.

And the pain and the pain and the pain.

And then when he leaves, something you never thought you wanted, and a new sensation is birthed.

It is the not-pain.

And there is so much lightness and relief and breathing.

Breathing and breathing and breathing,

And at some point the breathing slows and the ache fades just a little.

And you wonder how you endured so long with

The pain and the pain and the pain.

And you mourn for him.

And you love him.

And you fear him.

And you pray that he stays away.

Until breathing is more and he is less.

And then maybe you can float around him.

Hover and stretch and reach and maybe feel.

And pray that he will heal.

But not by my pain.