the seeds, the trees

"But once in a while there's a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, 'I will not let you go until you set me, in words, on paper.'" – Richard Bach

Tag: sadness

The afternoon I stop loving you

I don’t feel as much as I thought I would in all the places my heart is.

I wake with a headache. The 50-dollar nut. We lay and laugh at each other. Your friend sends you a picture of her face. I feel vaguely jealous. I shower. You dump a handful of cold water on my head while you stand by the sink. Fuck, what the fuck, I wasn’t even gonna get my hair wet. What the fuck, I say. You scoff at me, blowing air from your nose and mouth, look at me like I’m the lamest, saddest thing, tell me to grow the fuck up.

I dress, come downstairs. You’re sitting in the green armchair rolling a joint, your roommate on the couch next to you, texting. I make you coffee to go. I let your dog out. Sit on the arm of the couch, check my phone charging out of the wall, time 10:03.

You’re late. You better hurry, I say. You call me a bastard. Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard. God, you’re a bastard. You think I don’t know that? Seriously, shut, the, fuck, up. Fucking bastard.

Your roommate laughs. I feel very small and ashamed and as soon as you’re done, the tears come, but I don’t let them go, like I’m 10 years old and my dad is letting me know exactly how stupid I am.

Then something fades. Quickly, like clouds dissipating. Like everything between us is weather, a season passed.

I haven’t told you I’ve stopped loving you. You’re on your way to New York for some bachelor party and although I do not love you anymore, I do not hate you. I do not dislike you, at all. So I will wait until you get back, after you have a good time inside the dark and glittering bars.

I imagine you taking it well. I imagine you agreeing with me when I say, We cannot dwell on what is not. You’ll say something stupid like, Go kick some dick without me. It will be then that I’ll want to touch you, that I’ll feel like the stupidest thing in the world.

Once upon a time

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl more than anyone could love anything, but she didn’t know what love was. She didn’t understand when he said, “Anything,” and cut off his hair because she was cold. Then one day, the boy grew sad. He knew she could not love him the way he loved her. She told him that she loved him, but her words were so light they floated away as soon as she spoke them, like dandelion dust, as if they had never been said.

He is happy, and she is sad. He is easy, and she is hard. He will always have enough. She will always think about dying, even when life is finally and sweetly good.

He only loved her more, until one day the girl said goodbye. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was the Someone Else inside of her who wasn’t afraid to be alone on the loneliest planet in the universe.

Now the girl cries when she can because she knows she will never have another boy to love her like he did. She is scared to sleep at night. She sleeps with the lights on, but the shadows come in anyway and make horrible shapes on the walls, and she is afraid to see the owl, which is really not an owl at all.

Sometimes she reaches out her arms to touch him. But he isn’t there. He could be warm in another’s or content with his own. She doesn’t know, because they do not know things like that about each other anymore.

The saddest thing of all.

She is afraid that one day he will wake up and forget her name. One day she will see him, and he will not care. She is afraid of the hours, days, months and years that she will miss him, like a hand misses a hand. She is afraid that she needs him, like people need their gods, like her father needs the sea.

Without him, she will forget to breathe.