Stitching the Soul
Page 1
Also by Courtney Peppernell
Pillow Thoughts
Pillow Thoughts II: Healing the Heart
Pillow Thoughts III: Mending the Mind
The Road Between
I Hope You Stay
Hope in the Morning
Keeping Long Island
Chasing Paper Cranes
Acknowledgments
This has been an incredible journey, and none of it would have been possible without the support system I have. To every person who has ever been involved with the Pillow Thoughts series, I want to thank you with my whole heart. To James, from where we started nearly a decade ago—just two people with a dream—to where we are now, it has been a real adventure, and I’m excited to see where our journey continues. To Lindsay, I am so thankful we met and even more for all the work you do for the Pillow Thoughts brand. To Briana, it has been a joy traveling with you to events around the world, and we couldn’t do them without you. To Elizabeth, thank you for all your help with editing across the Pillow Thoughts series. All your input was invaluable, and I would not have been able to do any of it without you! To Kirsty, Patty, Fred, Holly, the Read Poetry team, Diane, and every person at Andrews McMeel Publishing, you took a chance on one little book, and together we’ve turned it into a bestselling series. For this, I will always be so humbled and so grateful for all the work you do.
Mum, Dad, Nick, Brie, and my family, you are the light that always keeps me grounded; and whatever I do in this life, I just want to always make you proud. To my dogs, Hero and Dakota, you have kept my feet warm throughout this series, and there isn’t a book I have written where you both weren’t close by.
To Rhian, the love of my life: We have grown so much together, and your support of not only the books but my dreams means more to me than you will ever realize. You are the inspiration I keep coming back to; you are my forever home.
Finally, to my readers, my jellyfish—you continue to surprise me with just how much these books mean to you. The Pillow Thoughts series has and always will be incredibly important to me, and I’d like to think that the adventures of You the jellyfish will continue in lots of other ways, but most importantly in your hearts. Thank you for your unwavering support, your stories, and your passion for poetry. It is because of you I have found such love within these pages.
All my love forever,
Courtney
Twitter: @CourtPeppernell
Instagram: @courtneypeppernell
Email: courtney@pepperbooks.org
Before we begin, I’d like to remind you of a story.
Once upon a time, there was a jellyfish called
You.
You had ventured with heart and mind
You had found strength
You had found wisdom
and You had mended the mind.
Now You must become whole and find
light within the soul.
I hate to spoil the ending.
But You
can heal hearts, minds, and souls.
Table of Thoughts
If your soul is grieving
If your soul is lonely
If your soul is searching
If your soul is whole
If your soul needs empowering
If your soul needs to breathe
If your soul needs a friend
These are for your soul
If your soul is grieving
I used to imagine holding hands as we drove
along the highway, onward to the mountains
and the little cabin we had bought for weekends away.
How you would look over at me at every intersection,
smile that smile of yours and say it was the perfect day.
I used to imagine a beautiful afternoon, sprawled out
on a blanket, watching as you poured more wine. And
I would stare at you and dare to wonder how you could
possibly, after all this time still, be mine.
I used to imagine our future with our children
running along the sand, us arm in arm laughing behind.
We’d look out into the bay, and the ships would be sailing by.
I just never imagined one day you would be the ship
and sail away, leaving me and all our plans on the sand.
There were moments when she was younger, filled with thoughts sometimes too much to process and parts too heavy to carry. It would feel as though the weight of the world was too much to grasp, every dream too far to reach, every breath so hollow she began to feel trapped. Being in her skin didn’t feel like enough, as though she were merely a stranger with someone else’s name, and high school was a collection of days where she was just desperate to fit in. But she rose from those moments, and she collected her thoughts. She became stronger in her skin, and her breathing became steady. She knew that life was more about her own path and her own healing rather than all the things that felt too heavy.
The day we met, you had been honest about the grief you carried. That there were still haunted memories within your heart, that you were unsure if opening yourself up to love would be an adventure you could bear again. But the other night, I had a dream, and we were sitting together at the edge of the world; we looked like two stars burning against the deepest sea of darkness but filled with light at the same time. I had asked you about the day grief arrived, and you said it came as a surprise, that you hadn’t been prepared for the way grief could sink its teeth into the very depths of your soul. I had looked at you, searching your face, wondering how I would ever not get lost in your eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you had said, and for a moment you had turned away, staring out into the universe, as though its weight were pressed against your chest.
And I had asked, “What way am I looking at you?”
“Like you can see all the cracks in my heart,” you said. “Like you can see I am about to break.”
“Are you?”
You released a breath, a steady stream of stardust, breaking away into the ocean of the night, and you replied, “Some days I remember the touch of the sun, how it warms me, and the other days the tears that fall from my eyes are the only friends I know.”
I had smiled lightly and whispered that I had something for you.
“Please,” you had begged. “Just know my heart can’t take much more.”
“I understand,” I replied. “But I am only giving you what I know you need.”
Your eyes had landed on mine, searched my face for what felt like the end of the universe and home again. “What is it?” you had murmured.
“Time.”
Every moment I close my eyes, I picture this: we are on the couch in my apartment, your head on my chest, the lights from the city glinting through the window. A song is playing on an old cassette, and we are laughing, trying to imprint the lyrics into our mind, so that they will forever become our lyrics and our song. When you left, it felt like those city lights had disappeared for weeks. Every day, I would turn the volume all the way up, in the hopes the music would heal my grieving soul. I wrote you letters, asking where you had gone. I included all the lyrics to our song. But the letters were always returned, and so perhaps the lyrics never really meant anything after all.
Some days, I can go hours without thinking about you. Those days pass by like the rush of traffic on an open highway. I am free on those days, a dandelion dancing in the wind. On those days, the emptiness doesn’t feel so unforgivable. But then the ache circles back around and I am thinking
of you again. Thinking of all the seconds, minutes, and moments I have since spent without you. And more than the ache, I feel guilt. It wells inside me like a storm, with shattering thunder and lightning splitting open the sky. I feel the guilt of knowing I can live—of knowing that I can continue on—without you. That I can laugh and find joy and love and beauty in the world again. Because it shouldn’t be possible to go on without you, to move on and let go. But it is; and on the days I am a dandelion, I relish in this hope.
The flowers had begun to grow again the month you left. They looked so beautiful in the yard, but it felt as though I had swallowed the soil and couldn’t breathe inside. Exhausted from the four walls of my bedroom and the pillows soaked in tears, I went to the café, had two coffees, and watched the people as they passed by the window. For a moment, I thought I saw you in the crowd outside, but when I blinked you were gone. And I am so sad about the way things ended and all the things we didn’t say.
The air feels warmer as ocean spray and oakmoss hang in the air. An empty bottle sits out on the porch as an afternoon thunderstorm rolls in. I watch the bottle as it filled up with rain. It overflows in the same way the pain overflows in my heart. And I am so sad about all the broken memories and how they’re tearing me apart.
The leaves are starting to change color, bright orange and yellow. They have your favorite seasonal drink at the café again. I walk past, and it fills my lungs. I see the name scrawled on the menu board, and I always think of you. And I am so sad, because we will never share a cup of coffee together again, and I’ve lost all the things I ever knew.
The lake has frozen over, and the snow covers the pavement. The stars fill the deepest parts of the night as I try to find comfort in their light. And I am so sad about the way my soul aches to hold you again. But the seasons have kept moving, knowing everything has changed.
Some people don’t have a choice
rather than feeling empty
it is easier to be filled with sadness
It is less lonely to have a mind
filled with scattered thoughts
than no thoughts at all
It is far more promising for
hopes and dreams to become
fragments and shadows in between
There are different types of sadness, and they all bring such a deep feeling of loss. Of not knowing how to heal and how to recover. The long nights filled with wondering why me and how to rebuild a bridge that has burned to ashes. But someday the nights will get easier, and you will be able to find the joy in things again. Someday you will look back on all the nights you felt so lost, and they will hold meaning for all the new things you have found.
My best friend asked me, “Why do you love her so much when all she does is break your heart? Why do you push everyone else away, just in the hopes that she might stay?” And I didn’t know what to say; how could I when I don’t know why I let you destroy me. There are nights when I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you are even thinking of me. Wasted nights on you. There are days when I look at my phone three, four, ten times, hoping I have a message from you. Wasted days on you. There are moments when I try to think of all the good memories, the memories that justify why you’re so beautiful and why you have my heart. But there are none that don’t end in arguing or you walking away. It’s been forever, and I can’t seem to let you go.
If there are days
you feel as though
your heart is too soft
and sensitivity is all
but a heartbreaking curse,
remember how important
it is that your heart grows
with every song, smile, and touch,
because softness is not a curse
but rather a beautiful gift
from the universe.
We look at a haunted house and we are afraid. Do not enter, stay away, go back the other way. I imagine we think of damaged and grieving people as haunted houses. That if we get too close we may see things we do not wish to see. But haunted houses are more than places with aching memories. They are homes needing light, souls needing compassion, beauty needing understanding. Sometimes haunted houses hold memories that need a hand to hold and a welcome back to the neighborhood.
There have been many parts to the heartbreak. The first part, when I felt you pulling away. The second part, when you told me you didn’t love me anymore. The third part, my heart breaking, screaming, crying, agonizing. The fourth part, the empty and dark days, the trying to heal but not knowing how to. The fifth part, the realization that you were never coming home. But the saddest part, the part that haunts me the most, is filled with all the things I didn’t say. I should have said that we could have made it if only you loved me as much as I loved you. I should have said that I pictured I’d take you out to dinner, watch our favorite movies, cook you breakfast, and live our lives together, and that you ruined all that. But I didn’t say any of it, and I know it will haunt me.
Sometimes sadness is feeling like you are too complex for someone to love you. And so, there are moments I want to take you in my arms and whisper that you are not your past. That your scars are not definitions of who you are or how long you can last. To reach for you when the walls feel they are caving in. To remind you a new day is coming and you can start again.
Others have tried to tell me what grief feels like, how to manage the grief in my heart, how to continue on. But grief is not a singular occasion; it does not happen once and disappear. It happens over and over again, stitched into all the things I do. Every time I find a missing sock that belonged to you. Every old photograph and memory. The texts still piled in my phone from you, with the love heart next to your name. A honeybee flies past my window, and all I see is the day at the lake as you danced and laughed and told me honeybees were your favorite. Every time I walk out my front door, knowing that not long ago was the last time you walked out too.
Days after we ended, I wondered how you would feel when people would ask how I was and you would respond with, “I don’t know; we aren’t together anymore.” Weeks after we ended, I wondered how you would feel when people asked what I was doing, and you would respond with, “I don’t know; I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.” Months after we ended, I wondered how you would feel when people would ask about my job, my family, our life, and you would respond with, “I don’t know; I haven’t seen her in months.” It’s been a year, and I no longer wonder how you feel or what you say, because we’re strangers now. Strangers with fading memories.
As for loss, I know that I have lost you. I know it when I open the fridge and your favorite chocolate no longer sits on the top shelf. I know it when I open the wardrobe and your clothes no longer hang beside mine. I know it when I find something funny and I can no longer share it with you. I know it when I make plans that no longer include asking you. I know it every time I pick up the spare key, because it was the one you returned to me.
The heartache has been measured
with all the eyes that fall on mine
how they take pity on my loss
how I try to tell them that I will survive
The grief has been measured
in all the hands willing to help
to bring leftovers made with love
how I try to tell them, I can still stand
The pain has been measured
in all the late-night calls
Asking how I am, if I need anything
how I try to say, I just need time
The happiness has been measured
in the years it took to return
But oh, how it did return
in all the smaller moments it took to learn
that I still have a beating pulse
The ache is a song that is forgotten on the radio; a house that locks the doors an
d lets nobody else inside; a sink piled high with dishes; and a bed unmade, pillows on the floor. The ache is the night sky everywhere, roses wilted, weeds growing in between cracks in the pavement, a heart that buries itself deep in the ground while the world continues on. But the ache will find the joy again. It will become a butterfly spreading wings, a flower bed regrowing, rain arriving and filling the lake once more, your soul replenishing and opening up all the windows and doors.
I see you, and I see how much you deserve to be the love of someone’s life. To be the light they never switch off, the arms they choose to run to, the eyes they speak of when they talk of the most beautiful thing in the world. You deserve to be treated like your name was the most delicate name they have ever murmured.
Even in the Grief
You can still pull yourself up
in the morning and make your bed
even if your soul is in pieces
You can still go about your day
even if your bones feel heavy
and there aren’t any words to say
You can still open the blinds
and watch the sunlight shining through
even if the darkness is what you prefer
You can still live and find
the beauty in the tiny details of the day
The pain changes you,
it makes you grow in ways
you could never imagine.
But so does love and healing.
Recovery is a battle,
no matter how great or how small.
And even if you have these battles
for the rest of your life,
you are still here to fight them,
and for that you won the war.
You are never alone