« heartless bitch, still can't sleep | wash your hands. lávese las manos | oscillating wildly »
wash your hands. lávese las manos
she asked me this morning not to give up on us. she said we had too much history to throw away, that it couldn't be ignored. that seven years had to account for something, right?
i pointed out that it was her, not me, that gave up.
the stupid, frustrating, terribly obvious thing is, i still love her. i honestly can't imagine life without her. absolutely every decision i've made in the last two years, (and a good many of the last seven), has been weighted around us. each step, an integral point in the function that mapped a path from the day we met towards the dream we shared together.
after seven years, she is a part of everything that i am today.
but how can we restart? i will never love her quite the same. i simply can not. i will never be as blind or as sophmorically unassuming as i once was. my love will never be so completely entrusted as before.
she could never be happy with someone who always questions why she's late; with this experience, some part of me will always be wondering why she's late.
sure, we might save us, but my dream of us is gone forever.
and if we can't love like that, what's the point? after touching such great heights, wouldn't anything lesser be fundamentally unfulfilling by comparison?
but i look at her, puffy red eyes. we are crying together. we are sleepless together. we are sick to our stomachs, and unhungry together. and in a perverse way, it kinda feels like we are a team again.
but how can we restart? i am an overtly sensitive fool, with a terrible weakness for attaching meaning to inanimate objects. her deceit went on for so long, for too long, and now so many things in our lives are tainted. talismans of bad memories that clutter our home, our garage, our lives.
ruined the truck i helped her to buy. the truck they used to get away. the truck i will never ride in again.
ruined the lillies. our lillies. the only flowers we ever gave each other. the flowers delivered on the morning she woke up in his arms.
ruined valentine's day. a stupid, commercial holiday that should not mean anything in and of itself, yet does. the day he held her, and i did not.
ruined the engagement scooter. long intended to be my promise. the process had started; i had found the motive, the painter, and a friend's basement to build it in.
ruined her place of work. i cannot go there. i do not trust my temper. i do not trust myself around him.
ruined her circle of friends. he is part of them. i can not join them in any event, he might be there. i do not trust my temper. i do not trust myself around him.
ruined our home. i imagine him by my fire, on my sofa, watching my movies. drinking my brandy.
ruined her arms. they are not as pure, as wholesome, as unquestionably mine as they once were.
ruined my house buying plans. they were all about finding a space for us. a single, solitary place in this world to be all ours.
ruined citrus listerine. i will always remember it placed where it should not be. placed where he left it.
ruined her new glasses. her red pants. her new shirt, skirts. all items purchased whilst on her "high;" (damn, she looked good in them). all items undeniably touched by him, possibly removed by him.
ruined t-faz on 23rd. where she sometimes went to be "alone." where she went to be with him.
ruined my absolute trust in her.
ruined the question. for the last two months, i had been scheming, planning, plotting: time spent working to find a clever, unforgettably romantic way to ask her the ultimate question. the very same two months she played this game.
ruined me. my heart. my soul. i feel a part of me has died inside. melted, then scared over. the only me available for a recovered relationship would be resonant deprecated echo of my former self.
there are too many shadows. there are too many ghosts.
there is no mappable path from here back to our dreams.
it is too much.