overwhelmind

have you ever woken up to the voice of treason?

there’s nothing like starting your day to the past. it takes your voice from your throat and leaves you behind, makes you wish you’d been born on the still waters rising in lamu.

love is just a feeling- just a fleeting feeling.

that’s the difference between “true” love and “love,” isn’t it? love is the feeling they call between two individuals who have met in a cloud of attraction and maybe conversation; it’s like a punch in the face in the sense that it’s undeniable. the consequences linger long after the bodies disappear.

true love, on the other hand, endures all hardships- it is not jealous because it believes in self, and so it can believe in the other. it is patient, because it wants things to work it; it wants to understand and be one and be whole.

true love is not fairy-book love. true love keeps a couple together long after the love feeling disappears. true love cannot disappear.

i can’t stand to be touched anymore. i can’t stand to be held. my skin is too tight and too dry, and there is no human-created response to this. i will not apologize for the things my heart feels, and i am quite certain i’ve yet to learn true love.

moving in was a mistake, i’m sure we’ll both agree: you in time, and i immediately.

for the time being, we shall hurl words at each other like stones: YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME, and YOU’RE SO IMMATURE, and all other obscenities that graze my skin like arrows on fire.

is this maturity? is this what it is to grow up? i don’t have to stand for this, i know. i don’t have to wait around and hope you will be in a good mood today, or that we won’t fight. i don’t have to be the first to bow down, simply to placate your bubbling temper. i don’t have to be overly unselfish to compensate for your double-crossing sword.

you tell me it was just a phone call between two good friends. six in the morning conversations must be fun. really great fun between two friends. and i was sleeping on the floor so you’d have more room on the bed. i don’t care if it’s your house. you’re the one who told me to come.

i want to throw things at walls. i envy you for your key; i’m sure you’ve gone walking somewhere nice down the empty street. and because you are a man, you can walk by yourself. you can watch the sun rise and you can kiss the morning’s light.

and when you come back, you force yourself to heave your insides so you don’t have to deal with them. flush them away, honey, but that kind of stuff doesn’t just disappear in a swirl of water. it will take much longer.

you ask me if i want us to work.

i just don’t want to be the woman in the field, bending backwards to support you.

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