I have typed, deleted, then rewritten. Over and over and over again this evening.
There is only one thing I have to say today:
Thank you for showing me I matter.
You’re the first person who ever has.
And, while that’s embarrassing to admit,
it’s incredible to feel for the first time.
I didn’t know I had anything else left to feel for the first time,
and then came you.
I’m realizing I have a lot of trust issues.
I haven’t always been like this, though…
In fact, I haven’t ever been like this.
But I’ve finally reached the point where I’m just so tired of being let down in a major way by everyone I love. I’m tired of being hurt in some way so everyone else can feel better.
And I’m scared. Because as much as I like to tell myself I’m the strongest person I know, I’ve realized I can’t go through it again.
Please be the one that surprises me.
I desperately need something to be good.
What’s the purpose of it all?
(This is #37 from Hot Pepper Prompts. Please feel free to leave an answer, as short or as detailed as you’d like.)
Something about how I still look for your face in everyone else’s, or
Something about how I still shout “I miss you” into the void.
But all I can think about is the way you said my name.
So I’ll write something about how I am more banned book than girl,
Something about how miles away feels too close now,
Something about never wanting to hold a hand again.
(But I am not, and it is not, and I do.)
This is the best I can do.
Something about how my love crossed an ocean,
And something about how you never wanted it to travel there in the first place.
For the places, the people, and the experiences that have made me who I am in this moment. My heart is full of gratitude today.
I sit outside in a red chair in the backyard of the house I grew up in.
Did this street get smaller, or is it me that has grown? So much has changed. I light a cigarette. I started smoking again and I wonder if you would approve.
I laugh when I remember you’re the only person who never gave me shit for anything I chose to do.
My mom told me someone on the news said more acorns in the fall means a bad winter is coming. I shiver just thinking about it. I remember the conversation you and I had about hibernating; little bears spending winter under the covers. I remember how we prayed for spring.
It’s so quiet here. The only sounds come from squirrels and birds, occasionally an unhappy dog barking somewhere in the distance. For a while I thought this place was just what I needed, but I miss the hum of the city, and four lane highways.
“We could both go to the countryside,” you told me once,
“it will help us get better.”
I thought I missed this place, this tiny house and these quiet streets. It’s warm tonight and I can smell the lake in the air. Nothing is quite how I remember it, but isn’t that how it always goes? And I wonder if you’re feeling the same disconnect with the place in which you grew up. I hope you’re not. If one of us gets better, I hope it’s you.
As I lean down to put out my cigarette, I notice it- an abundance of acorns. It’s going to be a long winter, and I know I’ll never make it here. Because this isn’t my home anymore, it never was.
Neither were you.
Once again, this is something super old. Because the end of the month is hard and my two favorite beating hearts aren’t feeling well and tomorrow is a holiday and I’m full of dread and longing. Please enjoy your turkey tomorrow. I’m thankful for you.
“Suddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
Isn’t that how it always goes?
I’m sorry, but today was shit and I just don’t have words.
I’ll be back tomorrow.
Someone has taken your place.
Actually, someone has poured all of their love into the cup you used to fill,
And it is spilling over the edges.
You told me once that I should find my happiness;
Here I am. Happy.
But you have the senses of a shark, I think.
You can smell my bliss from 4,000 miles away, and you try to spill the cup.
We’ve done this before, though,
And when it spills,
You will only replace half.
You will leave me thirsty.
I can’t wait anymore.
I never thought anyone would be an overflow,
But she is.
I was going to write about how I would be your red wheelbarrow,
Because I will wait, through sunshine and storms, to be useful.
You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to be dependable for;
I’ll work for you.
I was going to write about how I will carry your loads when you can’t,
Because you’ve already carried so much, and I know you must be tired.
Give me your trouble, your hurt, your doubt.
I want to roll them far away for you.
That’s what I was going to write about today.
Because today you felt ruined, and I wanted to carry it away.
I wanted you to know that I will be waiting,
Because life is so much,
But you can depend on me.
I might be ordinary,
But I can be necessary.