Love and Funerals for the Living

July 11, 2017

I Walk on Water by Kaleo YouTube, that is what I was looking for.

Actually looking for Peter Gabriel singing I Grieve, which I found, then Kaleo

Because I grieve, I grieve for you and you leeeeeave you leave me…

And also I do walk on water…

Except when I don’t.

I sink and I swim and I float.

Had a good float going.

But Nooooo YouTube is trying to kill me, Explosions in the Sky, the album “Those who Tell the Truth Shall Die, Live Forever” (the album) just came up.

Fuck you YouTube. I didn’t need reminding, I never forget.

That’s I all I ever do.

Remember and tell my truth, the whole of it and nothing but the truth so help me god.

Help me god, seriously. Need a little help down here.

I know Ive sinned, it’s what I do but I cannot  abide a lord who would give me a body like this that does the things it does and then says ‘nay Sister Sarah, deny thine fine self.’

I’ll make my own kingdom of heaven here just in case I am wrong and I don’t get in.

Heaven was Black 19/Moonface picking me up from work, or picking up take out and coming over for couch cuddles.

“I miss the way he talked” Panda said. Me too baby, me too. And him cutting his eye at me while we were watching a movie because he knew I wasn’t paying attention to anything but the curve of his top lip and how it curled when he knew I was looking.

I sent the bulk of this post to our Sara of Lords. I was in the car on my way back from a bar.

Not a fan of bars.

When did I stop dancing and singing and smiling? Who told me my teeth were ugly and my voice unpleasant and my dancing awkward?

And why did I listen?

I can sit here like some wise woman on top of a mountain doling out wisdom. About heartache and how I’ve overcome losing men I’ve loved. How I survived being the girl you fuck but never marry but I gotta tell you a secret. It could be 2am or noon and sometimes it’ll just hit me that one or all of them or gone and it’s a sucker punch to my heart. It fucking hurts.

I dread running into Giant and his traveling waitress because I know I will travel back to the girl who ugly cried and chain smoked in her bedroom begging for another chance while Panda and kiddo pulled their hair out trying to pull me out of my heartbreak funk. I don’t think the hurt would last as long as the first time, but still. Wounds reopen and you never can tell.

Every breakup is a loss.

You have to mourn.

It’s the same as death.

And we have to get up.

Someones gotta buy the milk and take out the trash.

You force yourself.

You baby step and purge. The time spent not crying starts getting longer like the days leading up to summer.

Then you start deleting messages and pictures like pulling out splinters so your body can heal itself

My girl sent me pics of her ex

So she ‘knows they exist somewhere’ before she deletes them.

I wish I was so brave

My inboxes folders and archives read like war memorial. Date of birth date of death, pics and screenshots.

They have to exist somewhere just in case I start feeling crazy, like it was always unrequited and maybe I was just too blind to see. But I open them from time to time, I wasn’t blind, they said those things.

I know this shall pass.

But right now I am thinking about Muay Thai matt and his face when he opened the door and saw me in the red dress, or when mike saw me in the other red dress

Red dresses instead of black.

I remember when I lost my joy, just like I remember every kiss every hit.

When my jeep got plowed into from behind and we rolled and skidded for a mile all my muscle memories were lost on impact. I barely remember learning to walk and talk again, but I did it. I am here.

I still get jolted awake in the night remembering the accident to but I got behind the wheel and drove. I got back on stage with knees made up jell and agonizing pain and I did it. I moved.

Bravery is movement anyways.

It is dragging yourself out of bed with a broken heart, crying in the shower hoping no one and everyone hears you, but you have to get it out because it’s killing you.

It’s waking up one morning down the road and not crying first thing. Its moments of forgetting that stretch into hours and eventually days.

Its seeing punch buggies and not cringing, its hearing that song on the radio or smelling that cologne and not having the sting of tears breach your ducts and hit your cheeks.

You think you won’t live, but you will.

And scientifically speaking, 7 years from the last day they touched you and it burned like a hot stove that you couldn’t keep your hands off, your body gifts you with regenerated cells that they haven’t ever been privy to.

Memories fade. Time moves forward whether we want it to or not. We move ever upwards on onwards.


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