a spring cold

and really we're still in the last days of winter and i have a fever with this cold so maybe it's something more menacing and i am used to being sick but mygod how quick it takes me to that place. to those days. to those years spent decorating hospital rooms with magazines and flowers, looking forward to my hand picked meals and cable shows and physical therapy. the little things that won't go away and eff my compromised immune system how about my compromised heart. my compromised ideals. the ways women have to compromise their dignity (or else we are uptight for caring about the media and the mens exploitation of our tits or the ways we look right through each other).

or how about that blanket he took. how about the days i crawled on my knees begging him to just stop yelling. to just talk straight. to just forgive me.

how about the lies he told. how about the stories he fed me. how about the ways i agonized over the promises and the dishes when he had already given up, already run away, already taken the gun and the pesto and the good sheets to his corner. already said his good-bye.

and i am not crazy.
and it was not my fault.
and i am not responsible for the ways that he/they/you failed. me.
and you failed me first. and hardest. and without reply.

and i merely decided to let go.
so go.
and don't you even text me again.