be still

there are times when I still miss them as though they never broke my heart. times that I remember hands, or lips, or a liquid way of movement. words I would like to put back inside my chest still linger in my memory. in theirs' too? what about them?
I still believe that to say a thing will make it true. I would have had ex-otter's baby. I trusted Pants, more than anyone else, as I sat on his kitchen floor, fearing his judgment. I really did think buttercup could have saved me. I really did go crazy when I left ex-husband.
We watch our words like breath steaming from mouths on a winter day. we watch moments pass because there's no way to hold onto anything. nothing is fixed. nothing is permanent. plans do not come to pass. when someone says they'll do something and then they do it, I am always surprised. when someone says they'll do something and then they don't, I am always disappointed.
the secret to my youthfulness is to always be surprised by every response. and yet I already see the outcomes. I still press on, hoping I'm wrong.
I mean, I've been wrong before. Right?
I am still waiting to hear of that loathed pregnancy. I am still expecting a heart-break on the way. I am still waiting for emotion to rise. I am waiting to have nothing to do with any of it.
do you know silence?
it is the absence of sound. the sounds these people keep from me. they can say it's for the best, and maybe it is. obsession cannot grow devoid of nourishment. If I cannot find a thing, then I can learn nothing of it's movements. so they block me, or I block them, and we close our eyes to our truths.
I have these memories. small glimpses of a former life. missing teeth. well-worn hands. long, slender fingers. green eyes. faces made just for me. silliness only I saw.
I don't feel as sad as I seem to be. I am just remembering. it is a lament without emotion. there is acknowledgment. these people are gone.
gone, but shadows remain.

didn't see that coming? rollercoaster roll down.

I don't miss the hook-ups or the flirting. I don't miss trying to pick up people at shows. I don't miss the rejection or acceptance. I don't miss wondering which one I'll get.
I don't miss the anxiety of not knowing what a phrase might mean. I don't miss trying to suss out if someone wants me. I don't miss dressing to impress. I don't miss not feeling comfortable in my skin.
I don't miss wondering if the person I love loves me. I don't miss the 4am bike rides home from someone's place. I don't miss drinking to talk. I don't miss the uncomfortable slumber next to a near stranger. I don't miss the awkwardness all over.
I don't miss being single in this town. Everyone you fuck is connected. Everyone you date knows all your exes. I don't miss settling for less than I desire.
I like what I have. We get closer every weekend. I spell his name c-o-m-f-o-r-t. When he feels too young, I think back to my 26. Starting college. Feeling real.
Age isn't a number, it's a record of experience.
I don't miss making out with friends just to feel wanted.
And no, I don't like this dependency. I tell myself I could have gotten to the point where being single was fine. I think I could have. But it was hard. I feel pathetic for needing this relationship validation. But in between those times, I'm so happy with where I am. I feel like me. He doesn't complete me, no, it's not like that. I just feel more comfortable around people now because I'm not being predatory. I have someone to put my faith into. I have someone who trusts me. Someone that I can trust too. This is stepping forward, I think.
Sometimes I can't believe my good fortune.

my albatross.

too many skeletons to fit in my closet. I had to give them a room of their own. now they keep me awake at night with the rattling of their bones. I can't go anywhere in this town without the fear of meeting an escapee. I can't go anywhere without wondering how I'll react if I see one.
too many skeletons. they took over. now I sleep on the couch. they wake me up at 6am and won't let me get any rest. they invade my dreams with their lipless grins. always shaking, always moving, always jitter, jitter, jitter. can't sleep with the noise. the irony is they don't even mean it. they're just being skeletons. it's my perception that's the problem.
so many skeletons, can't make them go away. they won't leave of their own volition. there's no reason. they have a good time here, chattering their jaws, never sleeping, a whole apartment to occupy. entire lives to ignore into ruin.
I'd like to shake you, skeletons, and grind your bones into powder. I'd like to fill the drains with your remains and laugh as you trickle to the sewer. You'd get filtrated and strained and made into something useful. Something without memories or names. I'd like to crunch you, break you, stomp you, scream.
You persist because I let you.
I don't know how to kick you out.
I don't know how to let you go.

it's a metaphor. your turn.

threw myself against the waves and then was confused when I got sucked under. tumbled in the sand and felt rocks against my skin. pulled myself out and counted all the scrapes. too many, too many.
tried to hold the water but caught nothing. just detritus. little things that I can't get rid of now. little things that cling when I crawl out of the ocean.

do you
know what
I mean?

laid in the sun, unprotected, and was shocked by the ensuing redness. and where did these freckles come from? why am I in such pain? of course these things happen. of course they'll happen again.
went swimming and got hurt.
sat out and got burnt.
all that's left is the scum in secret places that I'll still be finding days later. in my ears, my head, the webbing of my toes.
and the next time I smell my blanket,
I will think of this.
sea salt, crushed shells, decaying organic matter.
life, death, and

indifference.

learning curve

keep thinking I found something different
only to realize when I need it that it's just the same:
not there
not present

and I wonder why I bother.
and I wonder if I'd be better off alone
since that's what I am anyway.
since that's what it feels like anyway.

sometimes the distance between here and there
means so much less
than the distance between our understanding

we don't fight
but we don't talk
and there are no questions
about what I'm feeling.
how I'm dealing.
or what's going on.

life is more than physicalities
love is more than what has been done in a day
and while sex is important,
it isn't everything.
I want more than this.
I thought I had that.

disappointment runs deep.
feels like I'm always fucking up.

this is not a dream.

This is not a chance to erase all memories. This is not some "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind" movie bullshit. This is not letting leeches suck out the bad blood. These things don't exist. These are impossibilities. And I still can't let go.
There are images that visit me when I am my most vulnerable. The faces Pants made when I was astride him. His missing teeth. Him calling me "lover." The last night in his old apartment. Holding him while he cried. His intensity. His eyes.
And I think about ex-husband. The scar in the corner of his eye. His weird crooked teeth. The faces he would make to amuse me. The noises. His fingers. His fidgeting. His genius. His love.
In between, there is still ex-otter. And I hate him. And it hurts. Sometimes I feel it well inside of me, raw and bloody, and I don't know what to do with it. Mostly I can't cry anymore. Mostly I just hurt, or become numb, or find some way to distract myself.
I thought I'd figured out where I belong. I was wrong.
These three people, all so different. What connects them? They are a spectrum. They are a spectrum and my hate and my hurt and my love swings freely between them like a pendulum caught in a tornado. I still wait to hear from people to whom I no longer exist. I wait for understanding that never comes.
Lately the subject of children keeps coming up, and I think, "once I would have been willing to be a parent if it meant ex-otter would come back to me." I wonder if that was me. I wonder again how much of my disdain for children is real and how much is just for show. I can't figure out if what I say is what I feel. Do I really not like children? Or am I scared to have them because I don't want to be crazy? I don't want to fuck up someone's life. I don't want to fuck up my life. I don't want to fuck up.
For me, every decision brings about a judgment. Am I making the best choice? Is this the most logical thing to do? Can I do this?
I don't know. It's impossible to know because we can only see the road that we are on.
I don't like these memories, but I can't give them up. Once upon a time, I was going to be with my ex-husband forever. It still feels that way sometimes. I don't know how it could. I feel foolish. I hate this instability. I hate this insecurity. I hate that people so easily leave.
So many people have left me and stayed gone despite my best efforts.
Me, I can't let go of anything.