when the damage has been done
and the tears
simply stop
words of remorse
fall flat
scattered atop the debris
of the aftermath
always sorry
always making promises
with no ability
to follow through
forgiveness
loses all meaning
i find
being alone
saves me the time
the energy
the wrenching
anxiety ridden
emotional
and mental upheavals
of having to absolve
or be absolved
it is suitable
there’s a lot of people who come through the corner bar. the neighborhood middle class regulars needing a break from the kids. labor guys covered in dirt and dust, always ordering domestic. the ones who NEED the drink, hands jittery, searching for the crumpled up twenty borrowed from a friend.
and then there’s the one offs.
the ones who stop in and you never see again.
the random passers-by who had a good day, a bad day, need to pass some time for an hour or so – i am always amicable and of service, but reticent. it’s my nature.
such is the way of the local watering hole…
i think as i clock in for my shift.
another slow night. more of the same banal small talk, random chit chat with the same people, repeating the same stories, retelling the same jokes.
and…
he walks in. a one off. older, 60’s maybe, quiet at first. kind eyes. i can always see the truest intent of someone in their eyes. i am comfortably friendly.
the night goes on.
he talks.
he likes to talk, he explains to me that he’s a first generation italian and an extrovert. i respond that i am neither.
“well, that’s a shame aaaand you’re in the wrong business, hon.”
don’t i know it.
i am tired.
the constant conversations with the crowd are draining me.
even the one off.
though we’re keeping it to a basic back and forth.
nothing too personal.
hobbies, dislikes, pet peeves…
and now the bar is emptying.
he asks to close out.
i hand him his check, he signs the slip, but before he goes – he grabs my hand.
“listen. i’m an empath.”
i am visibly cynical. there is no hiding the defenses going up.
he laughs.
“oh you.” he pats my hand with the other not holding it.
“listen, i’m an empath and i’m not telling you this for any other reason that i’ve known this about myself since i was a kid. and i can feel your hesitancy right now, but hear me out. as an empath, we can always tell when there’s another one of us. you, my dear, are an empath.”
i begin to disagree, but i am cut short.
“you can call it highly intuitive if you want. i get the feeling you don’t like labels. but i bet you probably know what someone is feeling before THEY even do.”
i am silent. he’s not wrong.
“the only reason i’m bringing any of this up is because i can tell you been through some things yet still remain a KIND soul. you have a good heart. and i just want to say that i think it’s wonderful that you haven’t let those things make you hard. your kindness, your goodness – are beautiful qualities to have. and to have kept them this long… *pause*… just be careful. there are people who will take advantage of that. know when to walk away.”
i think i mumbled thank you. i was a bit taken aback.
he stood up, fit his winter hat about his head, gave the smallest smile tinged with the tiniest speck of rue, and left.
were it not for the credit card slip, i’d say he wasn’t even real.
but.
he was. and his words landed.
lately, i’ve been second guessing decisions i’ve made… this was a needed jolt to the senses.
and i know i don’t always listen to the Universe. 90% never.
so.
okay, love. i hear you. loud and clear.
*paying attention… paying attention to the Universe when it is talking to me.*
I miss your friendship
So much more than your presence
Next to me in bed.
It hit especially hard this morning.
The Melancholy.
It’s been a a good long while since it has happened. The weight of the past crushing me while I sat in my car waiting for the light to change to green. All because I took a minute to examine my surroundings. The neighborhood hit with gentrification. All the old replaced with new.
The burger place was now a bank. The corner pharmacy now empty, a For Lease sign clinging to the storefront, dusty and tattered. I knew this area once. Long ago, another life, a homeless teen sharing a basket of fries with the other delinquents. Lifting bags of chips and hygiene products from across the street.
I drove past the alley I slept in.
Before I learned that my body was a commodity that could be exchanged for a night out of the cold.
All the independent coffee shops with the bottomless cups keeping me/us warm during the long days…gone.
I felt my eyes welling.
I tried to shake the shadows off.
I kept driving. Taking deep breaths. Fighting against the rising tide of panicked sadness. And then I saw the greasy spoon I took my first child to when he was still in diapers. Yet another version of myself that I couldn’t bear to be reminded of. A young mother who knew nothing of receiving unconditional love but poured myself into loving a child I could barely care for and knowing it. Letting him reside with his father because I didn’t have my shit together enough to provide for him the way he deserved.
Drinking until the guilt faded into the next sick hungover morning.
The guilt turning into feelings of being unworthy.
Being unworthy turning to multiple attempts of suicide.
I always failed.
Because at my core, I was a coward. I didn’t want to live. But I was afraid of dying.
The pall was enveloping me quick.
My cheeks were wet with tears. This city, which I had tried to run from before, was bombarding me with all the things I had tucked away so neatly. Or so I thought. My mistakes, failings, friendships, loves, heartbreaks – my heart was flooded, drowning. No use now. So I succumbed to the tide pulling me under.
Sobbing, I thought of you.
How we were going to “make new memories to replace the old”.
There is no such thing.
The old will always resurface. Intertwined, reminding of us of who we were. What we have been through. We can be grateful that we have progressed. We have transcended the previous models. I am Me, Model 273. Maybe. I don’t know, I’ve lost track of the many skins I’ve shed. I just know that I will continue to evolve and that soon, the places and time we shared together will eventually join the rest.
Another shadow following me until I stop moving.
How do we miss
and continue to love
the ones who have hurt us
irrevocably
is it the moments
though brief
full of promises
promises
never kept
always broken
(breadcrumbs for
emaciated birds)
shards of
good intentions
scattered
slicing
through stubborn
normally thick
skin
with ease
(tis but a flesh wound…)
like tiny splinters
hidden deep under fingernails
there throbs
a constant pain
of remembering
what was
what could have been
what will never be
i dare not reach out
though the temptation extreme
this resolve pains me
my fingers twitch
an itching under the tips
a nervous searching
for the smooth feel
of the skin
across your cheekbone
they tap
impatient and out of sync
a restless dance of
digits
unable to sit
still
my mouth
a continuous
phantom tingle
tickling
my lips
so i keep them
pressed tight
to dismiss
them missing you
because
they are not kissing you
the memory
of that
the faint brush
tender touch
of lips
lingering soft
but urgent
against yours
sharply inhaling
the exhale
of
your breath
wistful
the days
slowly yawn on
while
i yearn
for that
blessed moment
when
we were one
It is Sunday.
Just another day
which was supposed to be ours.
Yet
Here I am
Alone
Realizing that
Days don’t belong
to anyone
They are just
measures of time
fading into the nothingness
of the
eventual forgotten
Still
it is Sunday
Just another day
Yet
I haven’t the Heart
The Desire
Nor the Wish
to share it with
anyone else.
after all this time
have you ever known me
the answer is saddening
but not surprising
for it is
unequivocally
no
but how could you
even if
i am whom i’ve always been
a quick scribble
the key half broken in the lock
soft drizzle through sunlit clouds against the blur of blue
a platypus
i speak
words tumble out faster than thoughts can catch
confusion
misinterpretation
a picture taken in the dark
without flash
i have attempted conformity
normalcy
complacency
rigidity
resigned myself to abnormality
(what a misnomer)
unapologetically and with zero malice
i am who i am
whom i’ve always been
fine wine and cheeto dust covered fingertips
technicolor costumes
against grayscale scenery
loud, unafraid
quiet, guarded
polka dots on plaid
silk sheets
sandpaper
mostly nonsense
and you’ll not be the one
to make heads or tails
of me
Her cries to the sky
Agonizing against
The aching goodbye
But Otherwise Fine 