Sweetness and darkness sometimes go hand in hand.

I wonder what happens once you file for divorce. Does my heart shut down? Do I stop seeing you in everything I do? Am I lonely? The burden hangs, sagging my shoulders with this unmistakeable weight, watching my forehead grow wrinkles at a leopards pace. I’m realizing that you bring me ailments with your love. Either my back hurts from bending for you, or my legs ache from chasing you down, or my head throbs from spending nights awake. And I fear I’ve run out of options.

This trip has been long and eye opening and full of broken promises, but perhaps this is just my every day. I’m at fault, too. I have flaws and sometimes I hijack your concerns because I want mine to be bigger. But I am standing here, begging by the Rhode Island subset, for an answer to who we’ve become.

Who have we become?

"I remember
how seeing the shape of your mouth
that first time, I kept staring
until my blood turned to rain.

Some things take root
in the brain and just don’t
let go."

T.S Elliot, Slow Dance   (via grammatolatry)

(Source: rarararambles, via squeats)

Ferry to Connecticut.

Ferry to Connecticut.

I read somewhere that cleaning is good for the soul, so I scrubbed the grout in my bathroom with a toothbrush once he fell asleep. I asked myself over and over again how everything could get so filthy in such a short amount of time. The bristles slid over the tiles and my wrist ached from the back and forth motion I always seem to move in.

Sitting back, dizzy from the smell of chemicals, I realize that I am always making a mess. My friends must secretly hate me. And today is no different, letting my mind wander to places it shouldn’t, missing people I know don’t miss me, dwelling on old feelings that, by now, are dirty and unusable. Like the kitchen floor, or the boot tray I haven’t washed in ages.

I’m the reason everything is so dusty. I’m the mess, I’m the problem, I’m the ache. Fuck, it hurts to get that.

A crazy power outage with silent lightening. It’s surreal, laying here alone, wanting nothing more than to hold my baby close to my rapid beating heart. I hate the too-quiet, the where-are-the-flashlight? conversations with myself. I hate the house without alarms and I hate wondering if all the doors and windows are locked. I get fearful.

My ears are ringing so loudly right now. Like tolling bells and engines revving inside a tiny space. Now I just need to feel safe. And I am begging you to bring the weather to a lull.

Let’s hang out.