I said "thanks" and "without the lipstick right"
She said "he was known to do some funny things"
I wanted to ask her more. She probably remembers more than I.
She used to type up the stories I wrote,
back when I wrote stories.
They would be printed on paper
with holes down both sides
that you could tear
Here I am still painting myself cages
that I try to run away from
barefeet to cobblestone
in the back alleys
as an alibi.
Last night I made love too good to last. Some couples seem so sure of each other, so entwined, that it's as if on some level they are making love constantly, even when they're in a different room or house or land. As if the lovemaking, before and after feeling, melts into everyday life, like a mist around their skins, keeping them serene and alive. Connecting them atomically and thoroughly. For me there's more desperation and defeat in the times in between. I have no peace that one of us will, at some point, die, so I'm not at peace in our lives. I saw my parents still in love when they were torn from each other. It haunts.
today I want to take a mental health day from life. The eternal domestic monsters of cashflow and housework. I'm clucky beyond logic or sanity. I am wrestling with deadlines without whatever the positive equivalent is: things to look forward to? I can't even think what they're called. All around me is mess. My close friends are all reduced to plastic coated cables, so far they are. Those nearby, his friends, our faux family, I can't even stand to be near. Not the way I am, the way things are.
I miss those who knew me when my dad was alive, or when I was still a virgin, or when I still felt there was enough time to do and have what I want. Old friends. Heck I'd even take a 'for shiz' lunch date with past injurers. People who thought of me as happy and kept me so.
So, I'm watching dirty dancing. my top tucked into my pants. scavenging for fruit. forgetting how hope works.