Crown of Love

Friday is D Day.

As in Divorce Day. As in finito. As in forever. As in no-more. So it means that I am taking things back. Things like my name. The promise of "til death do us part".

Nothing's changing. Nothing will be different. But the floors are caving in. And it feels like being punched in the stomach over and over with something like a hot iron or the lead pipe in Clue.

And Saturday won't be any different than last Tuesday.

But today, tomorrow. I am watching the city pulse and time is standing still.

And yesterday there was nothing I wanted more than to run-a-way. Anything to make-it-go-away. Fingers felt like claws and I couldn't breath in that box you put me in. And I didn't believe in one thing that one person had ever said to me. And I cursed that day in the ICU when I promised to keep on with the breathing. And I cursed the things that were inside me. And I searched and I prayed and I paced for a place to go. Something to erase me. And he was there and he didn't let me run too far. And I couldn't think of one place to go.

So I laid in his arms.

So I took a day.

We drove to the Cape. We ate pizza and sat at the beach and we talked things through. Things that Josh and I could never do. I saw his childhood room and tried to find myself in the Weezer posters and the Bruins faces, in the spider webs and the childhood pictures of a boy I never knew.

I took the long way home. Listened to a Valentine's CD I made years ago. I drove by the church, the house Josh and I rented with our friends, his parents house. And I never have to take it or keep my chin up or bite my tongue when I don't want to again. I never have to be there again. MyGod. The weight. The sadness. The freedom of driving down that familiar road and knowing I am leaving the things I need to leave but I am not running away. I know how to get home. I know now what that means. How that feels. Where he lies.

I got to Arlington late. The house felt empty. His luggage and clothes strewn around the spare room. And I went to sleep. Moonlight and a cup of tea.

what i know

there are some things that you can't fuck or drink or fake away.

petty

something about the breaking in breaking up makes me feel petty. makes me feel owed. makes me forget that i did those things because i wanted to then. i can't take it back now. i can't collect back rent from those days in providence. i can't take back the futon i gave him even if he puts it in storage so he can buy a bed. it's not about being fair. shit's not fair or unfair. right or unright. it just is. and i am not petty. say what you say. and i feel petty. i am not always this way.

and i miss things like grocery shopping together. like roasting chestnuts and buying the mull spices for cider we would never even make. and i miss the familiarity of those holidays. and i wouldn't go back if i could. and i wouldn't take it back if you made me. and i don't want that life again.

but it is christmas time. and it is gray. and the sky reminds me of those hardest days.

sleeping on my side. a pillow holding my thighs from the drain. the pulse of the hematoma so strong it kept me flat in bed.

and it is christmas time. and try as i might i can't pretend things like santa claus and holy children anymore. and it all seems so rushed.

and i wanted an advent calendar and a wreath for my door and instead i have a divorce proceeding and a list of chores.

been around the world and i, i....

so in these days.
the "anniversary" of my accident has come and gone. i have eaten turkey and pumpkin pie and chocolate croissants and scallion pancakes and so much jamon you wouldn't even believe it. i have slept in over-sized hotel beds in southern spain, taken the terrifying elevator up the eiffel tower, driven through olive fields following spanish signs i could not read and peed on the side of the high way in ireland.

it's not like going away takes it away. but the distance. felt good. and the perspective. got wider. and the freedom of no one knowing me on the street. of not even having to listen to the chatter because it doesn't speak my language.

and so we passed the days eating, and sitting, and holding hands, and drinking wine.

here, at home, the landlord still asks for josh and the checkbook still needs to be balanced and the floor needs to be vacuumed and the air is cold but christmas is right around the corner and i saw the pixies last night and i ate the most delicious piece of chocolate pecan pie.

and so.

message in a box

i came back.

bon voyage

i am off. i will not have my computer in europe.

i will return fatter and happier.

you can be sure.

coffee & dreams

i am turning over a new leaf.

getting away but i am not leaving it behind.

postcards. cafes. coffees. towers. the kinds with lights.

cheeses and jamon. i am gonna eat and i'm gonna love and i am gonna do it to it like it's never been done.

and it will be just very.

and it will feel just right.

and i won't have to pretend those things i have to pretend here to make you okay with the idea that i am divorcing and leaving and loving and not so broken that i am not okay. i won't have to check with you about whether it's okay to not be sad anymore. i won't have to down play my happy because it makes you question your boyfriend or your husband or the things you've learned to turn away.

because the truth is that while this is all hard as shit. while this is a shit show some days that even i don't care to watch. for the most part. and deep down. i have left the comfort of a dear darling friend for a life full of adventure. for a happiness that comes from being okay with me. for the freedom to fail and hard and as high as i want to. for the companionship of a love that tells me to listen better and tell the truth and to take a time out when my talk gets crazy.

this is hard.

but sometimes the right thing is a hard thing to do.

and i am tired to trying to be only as happy as you see fit.
i am tired of having to live my life quietly so as to not upset you.

so hear me. screaming. watch me. running. feel the way it feels to be the first one in your world to tell the truth.

so
tag.
you're
it.

and this doesn't mean i won't still love you.