this time last year
i was learning to be alone for the first time in my life
studying silences and getting a feel for empty space
A perfectly cooked sirloin
A handful of bubble wrap
The embrace of a car that’s been sitting in direct sunlight for several hours
Get excited about the little things. That’s all there is.
i am repeating, silently in my head, hour after hour, each and every day:
breath in. breath out.
this life is nothing but chemical reactions and electricity.
nothing matters, nothing makes sense and soon you’ll be dead.
have a thought, let it pass
feel something, let it pass
i love the way he sleeps
how he lingers in this world and falls all at once into another, the sensation of his muscles relaxing underneath me, his arm suddenly heavier on top of me, his breathing slow and rhythmic, breaking in sweet little whimpers > this big, strong, solid man, so vulnerable
he makes me pancakes for breakfast
he brings me flowers
he leaves me bruised and breathless, we laugh and laugh the days away
One year yesterday
It didnt go unnoticed
I said a silent prayer, thanking the universe
I am dismayed by how quickly time passes.
I want to remember every aching second of that gloomy Sunday afternoon. He says he has to work up the nerve to hurt me. Like the day I asked him to slap me in the red glow of the stop light on the way to his parents house and how I rubbed his arm afterwards, wishing he would put some back into it next time.
People tell me I’ve changed
how my hair shines and the peace they see in my eyes.
The warmth of his embrace holds onto me for hours after I say my last goodbyes and slip regretfully out the door, desiring nothing more than to forget the rest of the world, step back inside and lock the door behind me.
he strips my worries away with my clothing, sliding my panties and my heartbreak down to the linoleum without breaking his grip on my lips.
Gently coaxing my legs open, tears to my eyes, refusing to let me miss a taste of what he’s consuming.
Like a breath of smoke
I can’t commit
I avoid obligations,
anything I’ve not done a million times before.
I like to go back
More than once and leave again
Some bridges can be burned over
Until you grow tired of feeling eyes on you
Your hair blowing in the cool breeze of cold whispers
You just spent an hour in the mirror to get it to lay the way you want it
And hour in the mirror perfecting your honest eyes, your innocence
Time to move on