Tuesday, May 24, 2011
I couldn't sleep and my mind was collapsing, my belly full of broken glass -- my two arms reaching out, my two legs twisted up. Everything rests on shifting plates, they say, and I can tell. The Earth's crust crumbling under my toes. It was just a ticking time bomb, they say, and I believe them. A timer went off, and my whole world exploded. And I'm up and off my feet, my limp body tossed into a vast, foreign territory. But that was yesterday, when I thought about a half slab of bacon in my refrigerator that I couldn't throw away and a pint of cherry ice cream in my freezer that I couldn't give away. I thought about calling, writing, and knocking on your door, and I never thought better of it. I had my nights of soft little sobs into floral-printed sheets, and I whispered for help, my pleas bouncing off of four white walls. I could fall into anyone's arms, pounding my fists against them for explanations. I just want to sit down at the kitchen table and watch pieces of my hair fall down around me, sticking to my bare thighs. I just want to make love to the same record on repeat and, then, I just want to sit down at the kitchen table and watch you standing, disarmed in the darkness, drinking an entire carton of orange juice. I just want to sop up the trauma, wring out the mop, and dump the mess down the drain. At night, when I unlocked my door and stepped inside, everything felt empty. The ceiling fan stirred the dust... kept particles from settling on an answer. And then the sun came out -- you convinced me it was because I was awake, alive, and beautiful as ever. Love your fellow man, slow and steady, do onto others, honesty policies, eat your vegetables, say your prayers, the sun will rise and then surely set. Hello and goodbye and hello, it's me -- you never forgot, and I never forgot.
Love is blindness, my grandma says, and she's right. You can't see anything in the dark.