If it's too good to be true... Buy it?

Like many times in my life, I grew bored. 

Simple days became dull, honest conversations made it impossible for me to tell the truth. When you asked how my day was it took all my strength to not tell you I had robbed a bank during lunch. 

Where I reached for intrigue, you sought after routine. While most of us feared winding up alone, I lay sleepless at night, anxiety ridden over complacency.

I had left a long time before I before my bags were ever pack, you said.

Guilty Filthy Soul

Driving down lake road. I'm speeding. You're lying. I can feel your eyes on me even though you're ahead of me. Anxiety is racing through me, only now it's pure fear. There's nothing romantic about this crazy that consumes me. I can feel your eyes burning a hole into me.

There's blood on my lip when I come to. It's pitch black and I'm in bed. The first thing I recognize is the taste of my blood followed by a  heaviness on my chest. You whisper so lightly I can't make out what you are saying. Your weight is on me and I can barely breathe.

This is love. Do you know how I know? Because if you didn't love me, you wouldn't try to control me.

It's a long day of meetings and they haven't even begun yet. I'm freezing but sweat is forming under my bangs. I'm walking as fast as I can in heels without it being considered running. My pocket is buzzing. You are fuming. I have ruined your day again. You're favorite shoes on my feet.

My wrist is bleeding through my sweater. No one is noticing, at least they aren't saying anything if they do. I slide my arm under the table. You slam the door open and I get up to stop you. 93 pounds is nothing until it hits the wood floor.

This is love. Do you know how I know? Because you only get mad out of fear. I may find someone better if I make new friends.

It's my day and I ruined it. The same present you got me I already received. I'm sorry I hurt you by accepting it. I don't understand why I torture you either.

When the neighbor knocks on the door, you are already gone and

I'm cleaned up. The sun is peaking through my blinds. My phone is buzzing. You want to know what I decided to wear today.

October

You can feel the sharpness when it cuts your lungs.

The minutes before you are completely awake are the hardest to bear.

Glass is smashing against side walks while you walk home. 

I'm wondering if it's a Heineken or a Budlight. 

He whispers 'I love you' & you pretend to be asleep.

The zip code hasn't changed. 

Goodness

We spend our lives searching for something that we only catch glimpses of in passing. Something that we want to believe is real so badly we end up convincing ourselves of its existence. It is this belief that we hold on to. We tell ourselves it can be found at the end of cold October nights; promise that it is lost within mundane activities, that we will feel it's true power while changing sheets and washing pots. We think it's seen in one another from across crowded rooms. It's the goodness that keeps us going.

Until it doesn't. Until you realize that this goodness you've sought for has never existed. Ever. Everything caves in and crumbles then. We learn the foundation to which we stood was never there.  Everyone is a liar. Moments are nothing more than 60 seconds of time that pass between inhaling. We learn people are inherently evil. 

We ourselves, the preservers of the goodness we seek - liars too. Caught lying to ourselves. We're all cowards. All willing to do anything to conceal who we really are.  

You come out of your trance with a new perspective. A straight path ahead of you and new belief that the only person you can trust is yourself. Deep down you know, even then you are walking a very fine line.

When She Was Young

When they look back on my life, they will say this was a defining period. A time that changed who I was. Not in the twenty-something-quit-your-job-and-hitch-hike-out-west kind of way.  There was nothing angelic about the 29 months in which I did not move an inch. 

In October, it was all pumpkin margaritas with candy corn in the bottom of sugar rimmed glasses. Big flowery scarfs and black button downs kept us warm outside run down bars and empty city streets. We were thin then, but no one was asking why our thighs didn't touch. It was the beginning of the coldest winter we'd ever see and the first that I slept with a fan.

No one will say I changed for the worse. Lowered eyes and soft voices will give way to the fact that during this period I didn't crumble. I shriveled.

Before we could put away our flip flops it was snowing. And snowing and snowing. Everything was frozen before Halloween. Heath Ledger Halloween masks gave us anxiety attacks in the driveway and the love seat on the porch became a bedroom. Blankets left in the foyer, shoes lined the hallway upstairs. We didn't complain, we didn't lock our doors because we weren't scared. 

They will never mention you, not now. Your name will never pass through their lips to lay blame or award any credit. But it was you. You crushed me so hard that I never fully recovered. Bones have healed the same way bruises lightened. But the brightness, that honest belief I held in the purity of goodness - this was when I lost it. 

This was what happened after the leaves died. When it dropped too cold to go outside. This was when the emptiness that swallowed me began to take over. And I let it. I welcomed it. 

First Painting Project

I realize how much time has passed while I'm sitting on the floor in the kitchen, surrounded by paint cans and dirty brushes, more paint on my legs then the wall. I send you a picture of the mess and ask if your day is messy to. I laugh out loud, realizing I still share every thought that enters my head.

It was 2:25 in the morning, the first time you picked up a paint brush for me. I starred up at you through tired, half blurry eyes. The belt of robe trailed behind me but I held the back of your leg, like I was the stable part of this trapeze act.  You stood on a step stool rested over the toilet, half of your body leaning on rickety wire shelving- the perfect Thursday night.

 

We're young and in love, even if we're a little old now. That's my favorite part though. I remember that night every time I come with a can of paint or surprise you with a new bedroom wall color. My favorite as of late has been that green though. The original. 

I smile to myself while I type that very thought to you. 

A few minutes later, you tell me to get back to painting because you want to see a Summer Rain kitchen ready for fall when you get home.

Middle of the night green, circa winter 2012

Over the Rails

The grass isn't always greener on the other side. 

You get there and there's mildew, 

you get there and the grass is dry like hay.

You get there and everything is dead.