i am not going to miss being thirty minutes to three hours late to every. single. fucking. thing.

Words For It

I wish I could take language

And fold it like cool, moist rags.

I would lay words on your forehead

I would wrap words on your wrists.



“There, there,” my words would say–

Or something better.

I would ask them to murmur,

“Hush” and “Shh, shhh, it’s all right.”

I would ask them to hold you all night.



I wish I could take language

And daub and soothe and cool

Where fever blisters and burns,

Where fever turns yourself against you.



I wish I could take language

And heal the words that were the wounds

You have no name for.




~ Julia Cameron (The Artist’s Way)

Anthem

His most recent weekend visit to the girlfriend did not go well.

He returned contrite and full of regret, asking me to take him back. He knows my answer, but asks anyway, hoping it'll change. He's begun smoking again. He quit months ago, the week he broke the news. She doesn't mind the habit, and never asked him to quit.

The grandfatherly kiss to the forehead in greeting is now a more familiar peck to the cheek. I've been fighting a cold, and slept all day. He got me medicine and made soup.

I am stone. I know what he asks, but make no reply. I survived my weekend alone and am better and stronger for it. I am moving on.