Life & Death, with Flowers in-Between

I will love you like walking across the midday scorching shifting sands, but I cannot love you like enduring a freezing winter night.

 I do miss him.  Even if I know he was bad for me, and that I was bad for him, and we would be at each other's throats until the day one of us inevitably (probably me) snapped and killed the other... I miss him. This is the only place that I can admit that. I don't think anyone really understands how I could love someone like him, and I don't have a grasp on it either, except that the parts of him that spoke to the parts of me that were softer and deeper than the addiction and the trauma, too were softer and deeper than most people would expect to see in him.  I was surprised by his softness as well, and that's how he got so very close to me.  Our quiet, hidden places found each other and uncurled from the place where we had repressed them for so long, meeting a kindred energy, though our personalities developed so differently.  His extroversion, his recklessness, his boundless positivity, versus my introversion and fear.  I didn't even know I was a negativ...

I shouldn't have even been there... the urge struck me like a woman possessed and I risked the tipsy trip to 7-11 for cigarettes because NICOTINE GUM WOULDN'T TASTE GOOD WITH WINE.  Just in time to see the most peculiar checkout scene... the girl looked 12, maybe younger.  her mom was on the Nod in line and the girl, she flitted around trying to make sense of the whole thing, poor little butterfly not understanding why her wings were so damp... "He's here, Mamma!  I see the white car in the parking lot... here, let me use my card..." and she finished the transaction deftly while her mother leaned her head back and moaned.  Clearly distraught, the sweet 7-11 attendant tried to hand her the purchases, both hands carefully draping her outstretched extremity with the plastic.   "Hold onto it... hold onto it tight" he beseeched her, as she stumbled towards the exit, her daughter chastising her ( "Mom... MOM!  You forgot my DONUT")  and then turned p...

 It feels more like I'm barely treading water these days, coming up for a frantic gasp of air when I break free from the cold, heavy depths.  This place that I used to be able to skim the surface, like a waterbug, keeping a light tenuous touch because I was aware that breaking the peace could break the tension... it has become disrupted, like soap droplets upon the surface, making it impossible to walk the fragile bonds I weave like a spider, wary of her own web.  I cannot breathe.  I feel so disconnected.  I'm dizzy, I'm panicky, my chest is tight, my body aches... and still, I'm not certain it's any physical bug or sickness I'm experiencing.  If it weren't for the fever, I would think "yes, this is it... the heavy cowl of depression, come to drag me down again" ... this is a familiar feeling.  But am I sick because I'm stressed, or am I stressed because I'm sick?   The combination of the two is killing me.  I can't seem to regain my f...

 I should know better by now, than to give into the solitude.  The familiarity of self-destruction, but once more I choose to celebrate only Me.  Another holiday where I stay indoors, where things never change, where I stay in control of my environment in the same way a fish can move pebbles around its bowl. I know better than to smoke, but I bought another pack today.  One last hurrah , except this time its Cowboy Killers, red on white, an exciting stranger in my home.  I take the world in 5 minute, burning breaks, lungs tense and aching, and I suffocate the bright sunshine, the riotously colored trees, and the unseasonable weather, which somehow helps me disconnect myself from the experience outside of my front porch. My head aches.  I am sick, but I am too disassociated to care.  It is a Feeling , and like many others, it can be suppressed if I smoke until I'm dizzy and drink lukewarming coffee until I'm jittery.  It's the closest thing to bein...