(grief as a planet)

April 15th, 2002 · 5 comments

Stepping out of the shower, standing there with my head thrown back to feel the wet strands of my hair traveling down between my shoulder blades and along my tired spine to the small of my back. I am little and soft, my body pushed up to the mirror, and I stand this way and that way; trying not to feel like it is a waste, trying not to.. trying not to want… just trying not to want.

I get dressed and apply vanilla oil in hopes of making boys want to eat me. I’m tired of introspection, sitting in the half-dark and trying to decide whether I am too hot or too cold. Too pink. Too female. I am busy avoiding the clock, busy avoiding music and avoiding creating and avoiding the concerned, well-meaning questions people keep asking me like, “How are you doing? Are you okay?” because they make me feel desperate. I am achy-insides, too fragile, too volatile. What is life if you can’t be with the ones you love? What is it, exactly?

(All that love did no good. He’s so fine without me, and I don’t matter anymore.) -is what it feels like.

I said, “Grief is an interesting thing.”

I said, “I’ve been pushing it down, pushing it away from me, but it is a planet with its own gravity, no matter what.”

I said, “I’ve become so hyper-emotional over other, non-related things.”

I said, “I would find this more fascinating if I weren’t the one experiencing it.”

He said, “I’m sorry.”

(I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry whenallIwanttohearisIloveyouIloveyouandIdon’twantittobethiswayafterall)

I said, “Not half as sorry as I am.”

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