"We keep exchanging messages!" I think to myself, and who the fuck is we anyway.
We turned into him and I months ago now. I notice how quickly I join back into a we from mere communication extended past Californian mountains. What is the meaning of love with attachments, and is that love at all? And if I have to be attached, when does it extend so far past love that it just becomes an object for my sticky, tarry libido to wind around until to chokes it to death, like the snakes in my dreams? When I dream of snakes, he's around but never involved. He would wake me up from my shaking sleep to comfort me with his big, warm body. I mean, his body was really so very warm, against my cold, prickly skin. His warmth would exude into the bed sheet and the space around me. I never would feel cold. But these mornings, I wake up before dawn and my heart sinks just a little because I'm cold and all I can do about it is reach for the second blanket I already threw off of me.
It is that time of year. The time when it feels like my body is working at a different space-pace, manifesting and regurgitating, twisting inside of itself. Its also that time of year when last year I had him. And I didn't feel alone, and I woke up feeling happy and softened by his sleeping form next to mine. And warm from the heat of his legs against mine and hands cupped gently over my breasts and his dreaming breath on my shoulder. Should I have been more loving? Did I have to prove myself to him more, that I could withstand the pressure? That I would withstand what I had to for love?
But what about attachment? Would I do it for attachment? Would I do it for an object?
It's like when I get angry with him and pour all my words sharpened into little blades into the side of his head. As if I could never see that his muscle was exterior and his insides pooled into pain. Because, how could I, this humanness of me, let something go without first destroying it? I see glimpses of his pain and I am hurt by my own efforts to hurt him. I'm trying to let him know that his abandonment was so painful. I am angry he has left me to grieve our mutual decision to not parent on my own. How the fuck do I alone say good-bye to something that belonged to the both of us? I know his pain is there, but I cannot see its form, and pour all those blades into him, as if they will fall into the flesh of him and make patterns for me to see the shape of his weakness.
My heart, body and mind have been melding together for years now. And at these points of heartbreak I sense a need to pull them apart a little, so I can maybe see where I love him and where I'm attached and what it is I'm trying to attack.
I do know my soul was screaming from the rip. And silently does still.
We turned into him and I months ago now. I notice how quickly I join back into a we from mere communication extended past Californian mountains. What is the meaning of love with attachments, and is that love at all? And if I have to be attached, when does it extend so far past love that it just becomes an object for my sticky, tarry libido to wind around until to chokes it to death, like the snakes in my dreams? When I dream of snakes, he's around but never involved. He would wake me up from my shaking sleep to comfort me with his big, warm body. I mean, his body was really so very warm, against my cold, prickly skin. His warmth would exude into the bed sheet and the space around me. I never would feel cold. But these mornings, I wake up before dawn and my heart sinks just a little because I'm cold and all I can do about it is reach for the second blanket I already threw off of me.
It is that time of year. The time when it feels like my body is working at a different space-pace, manifesting and regurgitating, twisting inside of itself. Its also that time of year when last year I had him. And I didn't feel alone, and I woke up feeling happy and softened by his sleeping form next to mine. And warm from the heat of his legs against mine and hands cupped gently over my breasts and his dreaming breath on my shoulder. Should I have been more loving? Did I have to prove myself to him more, that I could withstand the pressure? That I would withstand what I had to for love?
But what about attachment? Would I do it for attachment? Would I do it for an object?
It's like when I get angry with him and pour all my words sharpened into little blades into the side of his head. As if I could never see that his muscle was exterior and his insides pooled into pain. Because, how could I, this humanness of me, let something go without first destroying it? I see glimpses of his pain and I am hurt by my own efforts to hurt him. I'm trying to let him know that his abandonment was so painful. I am angry he has left me to grieve our mutual decision to not parent on my own. How the fuck do I alone say good-bye to something that belonged to the both of us? I know his pain is there, but I cannot see its form, and pour all those blades into him, as if they will fall into the flesh of him and make patterns for me to see the shape of his weakness.
My heart, body and mind have been melding together for years now. And at these points of heartbreak I sense a need to pull them apart a little, so I can maybe see where I love him and where I'm attached and what it is I'm trying to attack.
I do know my soul was screaming from the rip. And silently does still.
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