In the darkness we covet, heavy breathing the last seconds by telling each other promises. You told me you would build us a house full of flowers that would come to the door in your hand and bathe me in the scent of roses. You said that we were in love forever, you said you would never leave me. And on a cold dark day in the middle of the night that all changed, with the smell of cigarettes coming off the balcony and a fight at three in the morning.
You said that everything had been ruined, I begged and begged. It was my fault wasn’t it? It was me, everything was me. I sat and looked in the mirror and pulled at the skin on my body and the disheveled hair on my head, aching. If only I were different, if only I were better and braver and wiser and just more than maybe he would love me.
And we held hands for a moment, and he paused and told me I was beautiful but fucking crazy. I found out later he told his friends that he was there for the ass and the face but couldn’t take the pace of the crazy woman who had made herself his entirely. What was mine was now ours and what was ours he took and left with.
What can we do with an empty shell of a heart except grow the thing back, make it beat again through stiff regeneration. Through crying into the phone and moaning please don’t leave me alone and telling your mother you will never recover and watching her eyes widen and your father leave the room. Is it more than this, could it be?
I find myself feeling so alive and hungry, never having been hurt before my soul aches but I also find it wonderful that I am able to feel this pain, able to just let it breathe through me and sink into my skin and come out through my eyes. He said he would be something, his promises were always weak.