Love, it will not betray you dismay or enslave you
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
Oh Marcus Mumford, ain’t that the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the fucking truth.
So… help me God.
Posted this meme to Instagram, got an insta message in my inbox from the Last One.
You should have kissed me longer.
Seriously Sparky? Fuck you, I tried and you bailed.
Lord I am tired.
And another one.
“I came back for you”, I said finally, out loud and everything, like a big girl, using my words and shit.
“That makes me feel good”, he replied
And at some point, the morning after, as I was applying poultices to my busted heart and walking home tired, sore and not terribly sated, I finally saw everything clearly.
A marquee lit up in the darkness saying simply, “what about me?”
When do I get to feel good?
What have you done other than promise tomorrow and show up weeks later just to repeat the same pattern?
“I’ve been trying to get you home for a week now.”
2 tings there buddy, what about all the weeks that came before, and see also do or do not, there is no try*.
It is what it is, and it’s not enough.
Speaking of…
The Nope was in the bar last night, I was not.
He messaged to let me know. Because no one would bother to tell me, he is not like the others.
I replied ‘I have no interest in watching you drink beer and yammer on about all your sexual conquests since I saw you last’.
I am good on my couch, watching the Good Place, in my good place.
The opposite of love is indifference. I never loved him, but I am definitely indifferent.
I don’t want to be passed over for addictions, hillbilly heroin, money, sex, coke, whatever. I am better than all of that and I know it.
Back to the Last One. He is making furniture now. Says he wants to build me something. Not sure if that is textbook irony, or just annoying.
Something small that can be shipped if it has to be, he said.
“It has to be, I am really far away” I said.
“You’ll be back”.
Oh Sparky…
Magic 8 ball says, not fucking likely. And even if I did go back, I would go further west or anywhere but there. That version of my future burned to the ground and there was nothing to put out the flames.
There is no warmth in that burning. There is no pattern with his come here, gone away, except when I post a good selfie to Instagram. Then he remembers and interupts my forgetting.
It has been a year to the day that the Last One ghosted worse than any ghost has ever ghosted. For almost week I thought he had really died. Took months to sort everything out.
He disappearing catapulted me to where I am now. I see this clearly.
Panda made me come here to get me out of my head after weeks of weeping.
He still checks in from time to time, they all do.
I got an explanation for Christmas, and a call to come back to him in February as I crossed the border from Quebec to New Brunswick on my way here. I didn’t turn around and go back.
He was on his way over to the house with flowers, to take me out proper and start over. But I don’t live there anymore.
It’s easy to see the why now, but back then I was inconsolable.
It’s like those pictures where you have to relax your eyes to see what is underneath.
And as I sit in Brian’s kitchen with good company and good coffee, I can see the sailboat.
And it’s good.
I am finally sleeping in my own bed. After 7 and a half months of twins punctuated with a few hotel room kings.
I am sleeping so much better these days. I had a dream last week. In my dream I knew the moon was new and hidden from view, but I could see it, low and huge on the horizon. I have no idea what it means, but I woke up feeling peaceful.
I drifted back off and fell into that lucid dream state wherein I had some control over my subconscious and man oh man I cussed out Mister within an inch of his life. There are parasites in the bar and I do not want them around. Hard enough holding everything together without the extra energy suckers.
Silence, legion, save your poison
Silence, legion, stay out of my way
Tool, Jambi
I thought he said leech…like this whole time, about a decade or so. Tomato, toe mah toe I suppose. Whoops.
I confuse ‘home’ and ‘hope’ too, depending on where my head is and how busted my heart is in any given moment.
And there is legion, for they are many.
My heart is a marionette with tangled red strings pulling her this way and that. Takes a lot for me to cut one. I know the damage it can do.
I am Lady Luck for all those around me. Especially the ones in the inner sanctum. The door is always open, some simply chose not to walk through it, hovering around just outside instead. And I won’t make them. I don’t force anyone. This is the land of free will. Show me what you can do.
I know what I am and what I am capable of, and on a long enough timeline they figure it out.
Usually it’s too little too late. Like the drunken finale on the Friday before the Sunday I left, 197/200. Like a promised knick-knack shelf in the mail that still hasn’t arrived. Like asking if I am back and doing nothing about it, except staying away, good boy.
Doesn’t matter now. I came back for me this time, and I am happy.
It sounds as though you’ve nailed up that sign on the door that says, “Be Here And Be Real Or Stay Gone.” , that only some can see. I imagine a conversation:
“Hi, miss me yet?”
“Miss you? I got over that weeks ago.”