this is all real

gone

i miss my best friend already. a week is too long. how will i be able to handle a month?

Things I Don’t Have the Guts to Say

Based on how you talk to me now that I’m skinny, you all must have hated me when I was fat.

Drawing Lines

Drawing lines in the sand has more to do with keeping you out than fencing me in. A little soul-searching has found my heart in need of a guardian; a great old wizard putting his staff down and shouting at you, You Who Shall Not Pass, that you. shall. not. pass. Get thee behind me, and take your memories, too.

Deleted years of emails, including the ones where you called me beautiful. Hid your every word from my sight on all sides; email, text, twitter, facebook. Threw photos away, tossed half-written songs in the garbage. You don’t hold weight for me anymore. No more.

You asked for lowered expectations, and you got it. I won’t expect you to call when you say you’re going to call. You won’t expect me to be anything more than civil to you when I see you in my world. My Kindness has been tread upon, and it exists for you here no longer. Get out of my way [and take your memories, too].

i stretch my arm

Today was an up-and-down day. I spent the morning with one of my best friends, hitting an art gallery where I have a piece on display, then enjoying lunch. It’s so crazy - we have had some relational twisty-turns, but because we have a ‘leave nothing on the table’ policy between us, there isn’t anything weird. Ever. Which is almost weird, in and of itself. We talk about everything, even when feelings shift and interest rises again … we talk about it. It’s a picture of health, and I’m grateful.

I spent the afternoon fighting, viciously, with another of my best friends. We have a history, too, but we rarely talk about it. We fight, and then we don’t talk about it. We don’t speak, and then we don’t talk about the not speaking. We are best friends, and then we don’t talk about why things seem to be going well. Nothing. It’s a picture of discord and brokenness, but I’m still grateful. If I’m not grateful, something in me goes to sleep. It’s a hard relationship. Did I mention we work at the same place?  We fight in the parking lot so no one has to hear our drama. Sometimes I imagine that we have been married and divorced and we have to keep it together for the kids [in our case, Scott The Intern. He doesn’t like to hear us fight.]

—-

i stretch my arm and press my face into my shoulder, pulling muscles and fibers until i feel like i can breathe again.

i catch an instant of your smell and am captivated. i move, shift, trying to find the scent again. lunch wasn’t enough. sitting in your car talking wasn’t enough.

To Be.

Trying to keep my heart at bay. Only responding, not initiating. Trying to find ways to show interest without coming off overbearing. Or too forward. Or any of those things. Just trying to respond. The heart of a woman was knit to respond to the love of a man.

But why is it so hard? I guess the responding isn’t the hard part. When we’re together, when we’re talking or doing, it’s easy to slip into a ‘being’ state of mind. Just be. Be here, be now, respond, love, be. But in the in between times? That’s when it’s tricky. That’s where sitting comes in handy. Focusing on one thing at a time. Working, not striving or trying. I dunno, it all sounds the same after a while. Doing, sitting, being, working, striving, trying. Pushing. Walking. Running.

I’m feeling oh-so quiet this week. My heart went on a surprising adventure this weekend and I’m still not totally sure how to wrap myself around it. I’m just carrying it in two hands, with a surprised look on my face, asking “Where does this fit?” I don’t even know if I have space for it. He was in my house. On my couch, in his socks. I was at his restaurant, in his kitchen in blue shoes.