PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

more than a minute

Thursday, Jun. 06, 2002
"When I was a little boy, they called me a liar, but now that I am grown up, they call me a writer."
�Isaac Bashevis Singer


Sometimes I wonder why I put so much of myself into the relationships in my life. I wonder why I don�t just travel slowly through them like everyone else seems to do. I don�t know. And then I think about BraN, who hands out beautiful advice like the perfect windex to cause clear views to the solution. I take a lot for granted. The fact that I will wake up�taken for granted daily. The fact that I can walk�.yup taken for granted. My friends that throw themselves head first into the ship called Friends�.I love those kinds of people. Head first..never looking back. I think of Tim last night telling me that I�m never alone because we found a oneness in the experiences that few ever share. What a beautiful moment. How do you take those things for granted?? I never have.

Tonight I listened to the morbid story of how �he� had to leave her because she never de-velcro�ed herself from her ex-husband. I told him that perhaps he never destroyed her enough to make her want to detach and so she�s happy where she is mentally. He told her that it had to be over. She cried. Now he�s wondering if it has to be over. Because just like I always suspected�tears are a wonderful torture device against him. Tears�..simple little nothing things that cause so much shattering like actual gunfire. Boy leaves girl, girl crys, boy goes back. Doh!

This girl cried a lot and all the while sobbing with meaning. Yeah that�s what �he� said. �Kristy, it was �SOBBING WITH MEANING�. You don�t understand Kristy�..

I didn�t know there was a different kind of sobbing. Is there a �SOBBING FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT?� could it be??? geez. I just did it in silent closets and didn�t broadcast my pain down wires causing guilt trips long enough to make a man request a longer vacation leave from reality. That girl�while I felt badly for her in one instance�in the next I hated her for being far more conniving than myself. He�s right�I turn everything into being about me. Selfish self serving girl that I am�..*sigh*.

But this isn�t the first time he�s come to me. I know he does this because of one of two things.

1. He knows I�m a good friend. A good ear that he can fill up with his pain. I put aside everything bad between us and forget myself long enough to be a true friend and hear him out without spewing my own pain and thoughts based upon me.

2. I�m stupid and do the above.

Yeah, it�s one or the other. Take your pick. I personally like that feeling when someone comes to you. I really like when someones super upset and they choose me. I know how meticulously I choose for myself who I want to reach out to. I love being needed by someone�.even if they might be using me for their own means. Yeah that�s sick. I need to rethink that. Maybe I just like that �he� does it. It makes me feel for a brief moment that I am bigger than him because he�s crawling to me with his woes instead of the other way around that I did for years. Maybe I like to see him sniveling and whining and weak. Maybe I like to see him be human for a few minutes. Maybe it�s a combination of everything. I really like it when he says something and then says �what about it? What do you think Kristy?� He�s seeking my acceptance, my approval�.my opinion. That makes me mentally wet. It was the opposite for so long that I never got all the groveling out of my palms. I still pick out pebbles from past conversations. It�s nice to see his bloody palms reaching to me.

The one thing that he eerily keeps saying to me� �you�ve gotten so strong�since we met�.you�re so happy somehow�� Its eerie because he doesn�t know what�s changed. I can�t bring myself to tell him because I told him so many times that if I got to leave I�d stay gone. I ran back. I just can�t assume that grovel position of the past and explain myself with weak ramblings. I can�t do it.

My weak ramblings that I could hit �PLAY� and repeat with ease. I can�t do it. I like standing and seeing him crawl. I like being the only one that knows why I�m better. Why I�m stronger. Why� I like being the one that has the answer to why and watching him saying �Why Kristy..but why is this happening to me?� Tonight I almost said �because you did this to someone else�it�s Karma�..� But then I lose my strength when it hits me that I am lying to myself when I try to be bigger than him. I am far worse than him because I have yet to catch his lies in butterfly nets and he�s got a jar full of my wicked liEghtening bugs.

I don�t know where and how this relationship became a part of me. I am velcro�d because something deep inside was welded to a part of him. I can�t get it back no matter what�it�s gone. He has it. And the bitch of it all is I gave it to him with a giant red bow and said �take it� before I knew what I was doing.

The odd part is I sat in parking lots listening to his pain and feeling all powerful. I came home and rambled my deepest momentary thoughts to husband and felt all the Velcro ripping away. He was laying naked on the bed from my bad memories �.I�m releasing the biggest parts of me and he�s falling asleep around my words. I�m frustration wanting to throw vicious words at his closing eyes. Instead I walk down the hall and here I am�..right here�..where I�m tired of being. Where he pushed me before�.

I never knew him because of my happy house. Happy houses don�t fold up like card houses because of an outside wind. It�s more of an inside tornado. I never wrote with chalk on sidewalks waiting for the rain to wash me all away when I talked to him. I�m watching rainbow colors fleeting. Everything I said to husband�.gone�.he�s snoring. He won�t remember.

And I push all those thoughts out of my head. I see little cherub blue eyes looking up to me�.and I push it all back down. I am one giant juxtaposition to what I feel and what I pretend. It�s easy to make all nice nice pretty lets play house�. It�s so much harder to know the truth.

I write my words in the air. He�s too shaded to know.

I write my words on wires�and he hears every single lie with good intentions.

I have it all so backwards and every time I get it all straight�it all falls back down like dominoes in a row.

To the back of my mind �I push it all. Like heads on pillows I push my face deeper away. I push thoughts of packages from England, new CD�s, bills to pay�.other things. Let �him� go�.let it go�.and the more I want to the more I think about it and I�m counterproductive. And if husband would just fucking listen to me more than once a week when he�s all awake saying �what�s goin on with you hon?� I don�t always have my song all cued up when he says that. Why can�t he want to listen to my melody when it�s playing all by spontaneity?

What would happen if I just stopped talking to everyone? Including me. I am my worst fucking enemy. I just want to know love�.for more than a minute at a time.

1:34 a.m. ::
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