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Not since you left have the waves come…

The day he left was the day I saw his room for the first time. It was cold and surgical-feeling. The walls were stark and his bed hadn’t been occupied for weeks. I looked and said, “I’d move in with me, too.” 

I sat cross-legged and scratched doodles on a pad of Post-its while he paced from one pile of things to another, obsessively straightening and picking up and putting down and never really accomplishing much of anything. I finished my drawing, a stylized heart, and stuck it to the wall where his head would be, if he were actually using his bed.

Without looking up from straightening a stack of magazines he said simply, “Wasteful.”

I looked up at him. “But it’s not wasteful — I made something out of it.”

Our eyes met. His were fierce and dark and stern.

I backed down.

A sea of waves, we hug the same plank

I waited by the pond, poised and purposeful, breathing deep and drinking in the healing energy of the dozens of little peeping frogs splashing at my feet. A warm breeze ruffled the hem of my dress, and I saw his feet beside mine.

We locked eyes.

I suddenly felt naked and very, very small.

I tried to speak, and cut him with my anger and my sadness and my fear and sing how dare you, I can’t believe it you’re really here, and you don’t belong here and never did and look what you’ve done but all that came was

“…you’re really here…”

and it wasn’t sharp enough.

If like you

should sink down beneath

I’d dive way down… would you?

Is that what you want?

“You left a huge mess… and nobody wants to be the one to clean it up. And I can’t say I blame them.”

“I can try… I can try while I’m here. I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you.”

“…I loved you anyway.”

He pulled me to his chest and I buried myself in the sound of his heartbeat. I imagined that his touch would set me off shaking or the smell of him would coat my stomach in cold fear, but now I was wrapped up in him and I only felt like

“…you just went somewhere for awhile and came back, like you belong here.”

“I never belonged here. …Sorry.”

“I just wanted…”

And not since you left have the waves come

“…I just wanted you to be happy. And if I knew how, I’d do it. I’d go to the end of the earth and I’d kill myself doing it…you know this.”

His voice cracked. “I know.” 

“You’re never alone. Remember this… when you go home.”

“I know.”

But when he ran the next morning

suitcase in hand

across the freshly-cut grass

and dove into the back of the waiting pickup

He didn’t look back once and I knew from the way his fixed his mane in the rear view mirror that he had already forgotten.

And not since you left have the waves come…

We were sitting outside the bar when I said, “I had my heart broken.”

Nick leaned in to light my cigarette. “Oh no,” he laughed, “how did you let that happen?”

It made me laugh because most people would say something to the effect of, “What happened?” or “How did he break your heart?”

But Nick, in his infinite wisdom, reminded me that it was a choice, and it’s always been a choice. And so I caught fire in rum-philosophy when I realized that, just as I could avoid having my heart smashed, stolen, infected, drained, maimed, or any number of things… 

Every day people make a conscious choice to hide, covet, or love. When you choose love - in any situation - there’s no real risk, because your source is eternal and the only thing that can rectify any hurt is love. If you make it a habit, you’re invincible.

This all hit me like a truck full of joy directly in the face, and Nick was saying something but I couldn’t hear him anymore because my heart was bubbling up higher and higher, and I wanted to hand everyone in that bar a piece of what I felt.

So I just looked at him and said, “I’m drunk,” because I was, in every sense of the word.

Amazing Raccoon's Inspiration: The Adventures of Kristie Pollard #1

amazing-raccoon:

Kristie Pollard went to the store to buy some apples; however, she came home with pears. She returned to the store to find that all the apples had been removed and everyone seemed to have no idea what apples were. Kristie had fallen into another dimension, where apples were not real and pears…

1. The person you like, and why you like them. 

For all of the days of my life post-Amsterdam where I felt big and bright and brave, it wasn’t until I was hugging my legs to my chest on a cool fall afternoon and crying on the hillside that we connected.

I had my chin rested on my knees and was gently fingering a cigarette I had bummed from someone. I’m really allergic to them and I quit about a year and a half ago, but I had gotten in a fight with a professor and I just wanted that nicotine buzz to envelop me and make me less concerned about whether or not I hurt his feelings. 

From behind me I heard the scuffing of feet along the cement slow, and then stop. I held my breath and tensed a little, but didn’t turn around because my eyes were all red and so was my face and my hair was all stringy with tears and I felt like absolute death.  

There was silence, and somewhere in the distance tires hissed and faded away, and then a soft voice gently nudged me from behind;

“Rough day?”

…and for a minute I couldn’t speak, only sniffle. My words were caught in my throat, because I was never that girl. For my entire life I felt as though I were kicking and screaming for help, or for someone to notice, and help never came.

…but it was here and now and soft and unsolicited, and I felt less rat and more human.

I told him what was wrong and then eeked out, “Thank you for listening” and he laughed and said “Oh, a’course” with his voice rising like he was carrying all of that weight away and now that we had dismissed it, it couldn’t come back to bug us anymore.

I believed it then, and I believe it still, because gold lion’s gonna tell me where the light is.