I woke up this morning, dazed, with reminants of last night's unravelings throbbing in my temples. When did it become such a sin to sleep all morning?
After a long night of ringing telephones, paranoia, fast food and cops on every corner, I crawled into my unmade bed. It was there I would experience a short chain of bad dreams that would leave me in this funky mood all day. I can't call them nightmares; there were no green monsters or boogie men or blood-soaked hands with a butchers knife enclosed in a white-knuckled clenched fist, though it may as well have been. It was even worse than that.
It was a familiar face, inches away from mine, touching the most private place of my body; my heart. Eyes blue and gaping into my soul, unknowing that I was slowly coming undone, peeling back the skins of of years of disappointment, years of lonliness, years of unloving. My lips were touched, only for a moment, and I laid back and let the tears slowly drip out of the corners of my eyes, onto the pillow. I had woken up and I was alone. The real part of the dream were the tears.
I stared up at my plain white ceiling for a long time before I got up. It was there I saw those years of disappointment, the broken pieces of my heart that turned into bitterness after sitting out too long and festering with its open wounds. Don't look at me, I thought, I'm ugly and battered and broken and bruised. I'm returned merchandise with dents in the outer shell and bloodshot eyes. You don't want me. Put me back.
I wish I didn't love. I wish I didn't care. I wish I could hide my feelings in a Pandora's box under my bed and throw away the keys. I feel used and corrupt, innocence lost over the curiosity of human nature and incapable of ever maintaining faith in love.
"If I let you in my heart, you may never touch bottom."
1 comment:
I'm so resisting the temptation to say something trite like we all suffer lost love and that only makes when you find real, true love, it's all the more special. I really am trying not to say that, because when you're suffering through the pain of that lost love, it seems as though you'll never feel that wondrous feeling again. It feels as though the pain will never truly go away, even though you put a happy face on for the world to see. And, in some ways, the pain is always there, but after time, the pain doesn't hurt, the memory of the pain might. Just a little.
Oh...I am trying. And I sure do remember.
~~ jennifer
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