broken hearts and crosswords

I picked up the crossword this morning, ordered my coffee, and drove down the highway telling myself I need to stay angry. I can't keep going back. It doesn't matter what others think. They don't know the truth and they don't have to know. I don't have to tell anyone and I don't have to lie for him anymore. I ask myself how I got here. When did I throw my self respect out the door? I wonder at how he twists everything in to my fault. I make a scene when he throws his napkin at me and storms out leaving me to choke down what's left at the table alone. I make a scene when it's you who calls my friends and brings them in to... I apparently control your decisions, your choices for action, I force you to say the hurtful things you say - untrue or true.

And in true form - you don't have the respect, after two years, to say to my face that it's done, to say anything at all, you're always running away. So I'll say it here... you're not welcome in my life anymore. No matter how you dress shit up - it still smells like shit.

And in the end --- you're a good person somewhere deep down, but you're not a good person to me and it's unfortunate that your self righteous attitude prevents you from seeing me, you, and us. It's unfortunate because it doesn't get any easier buddy.

Goodbye.

Right...

Doing laundry while it rains, and rains, and rains some more. The moisture temporarily quells the fires and leaves my heart no longer raging, but instead sedated, resigned. I wonder if it will all ever change. I look at him and I see a stranger sometimes.

Is it normal to hide a computer in your closet, stuffed behind a sock drawer?

I don't know anymore.

...

It won't be long before Monroe crawls with college bound students again. They'll drink till 4 in the morning, teetering around on stiltish heels, and exchanging blows beneath darkened bedroom windows. The cops will start driving the gut more often. I'll pack away the sweet ride for the commuter bike. I'll wait for rain, lingering in the alley, talking nonsense with friends, dying with each breath I blow in to the cold air. Monroe is a reminder of past years, of the circles we keep moving in, and when she sleeps beneath us I roll over and whisper in your ear. Something has to change.

Tired...

Couldn't sleep at all, my dreams like rivers, flowing down on to the street, where the lights whir in blue and red. I'm wandering like the ghost of this house. Floor boards creek over my neighbors heads and I catch myself staring down at the windows of neighbors and they're all asleep. My insomnia won't let me sleep, it's a steadfast friend, the only thing that doesn't betray me. All the hurt that's collected here. There's a lot that has gone right and just as much that's gone wrong. I wish for the breakdown, for the tears that make rivers across the kitchen floor, for that mad dash through the house to destroy everything that's built up, the fake walls, the fake semblance that it's all o.k. I'm looking at my capable hands, and they may be imperfect, but their mine and I pick up all the pieces and I dream of rivers where everything flows somewhere... where the eddies of my heart and the tears of my head and the hopes of my soul all stir.

You remind me...

Today has shaped up to be one of those rare days reminiscent of adolescence. In bed I linger beneath the warmth of the sun through windows. I don't worry about the alarm clock. One eye open, watching his steady breathing, I feign sleep, as if the action of sleeping in would diminish it's beauty – instead I want to be aware of this moment, and it's bliss. The biggest concern is when to get up, when to stir, will my feet get cold? And when I finally do – I'm greeted with warmth & affection, an impromptu shopping trip to the store, domestic happiness, that ends with breakfast in bed.

we are shadows in the night...

You are the shadow at 1am under lamplight when reflections dance on the willamette. It doesn't matter where I turn there they are, lurking, wavering, shadows of self and life. And I run down the bike path and stop to look back. At home there's a person in the bed and he's called me a liar. At home there's a girl faking sleep. And in the morning she fakes peace as he leans in to kiss her goodbye. Un-stirring aware. I feel empty. There isn't a one way bus stop in this town. I can't ride my bike fast or far enough. In three years I didn't think I'd still be fighting with my emotional paralysis, these shadows in the night.

Has it really been that long?

I pulled out the bike yesterday and went for a ride. Warm moist air whipping past me, bikes, kids, ducks, a pond, a street, cars filled with expressionless faces of bored commuters. I biked out of town. I biked up my favorite hills. I biked downtown. I parked my bike and stared shamelessly at other bikes. I even biked past your house. I thought it might hurt more than this, or that I might a find a spot, something sore and oozing, something ignored, or black, but instead I kept on pedaling - summer on my lips and sun in my hair.