Self

Before there was him there was no me.

Legitimatly speaking I was undefined.
An emptiness walking along steps instead of stones.
Following what was the line of living...

He breathed meaning into my soul, and made life burst before me.
He began to paint color into what he called 'our' world.
His arms remained around me through my days of bliss, and there was no sweeter sound then him whispering what became my name.
The Jazz he would play on his records while we sipped our coffee on the couch became our theme songs.
The smell of sweet cream and strong beans became familiarity.
Poetry would spill from his mouth in slow syrupy words. Addicted I would watch every form his lips would transform, listening to every note his voice would reach.

He filled me with himself.

Only once he was gone did I realize, I had no name.

Once 'our' world became 'my' world, I no longer knew 'who' it belonged to.
My feet turned to the stairs this body walked before, but my hands habitually grabbed a record to play. I became aware of my annoyance with jazz.
My mouth lifted to what always had been 'our' favorite drink, and to my surprise I no longer liked cream in my coffee.
I tried to invision the beautiful lyrics he would recite to me, and I discovered I had never really been listening to the words.

The name he had created for me no longer fit the person I am becoming.
I think they call this thing in front of me a stepping stone in life, my life.