I Take It Back.

I sit here at 1:29 AM writing this even though I have to be up at 6:00 AM to be ready for med pass.
I don’t know why I always choose the night.
I don’t know if it’s her that chooses the night,
or if it’s me.
If I attract it.
If I ask for it.

I found out today that you were home with him.
That you are back together.
Even though it sounded like he had left you again 3 weeks ago,
that he had broken your heart for the infinite time,
that he had recanted all the promises,
that he cheated you of all your money.

I even spoke to you on the phone last week when you told me you were home.
But you never told me you went home with him.

Why did I find out tonight?
At 1:29 AM.
When I should be asleep.
When I could be resting.

But now I’m just anxious,
I’m upset,
and I’m sad.

Last time you told me that you did not plan on dying anytime soon.
And now I know why.

It wasn’t because of anything new,
it wasn’t a new revelation or a development,
it wasn’t change or growth.

It’s just the same story over,
and over,
and over again.

And it hits me like a wave erodes the cliffs.
That this will never end.

That this will never have the ending that I want it to have.

That I will live my life fearing,
that I won’t ever be able to say goodbye to you without choking up,
that I won’t ever be able to say goodnight to you without the fear that I wouldn’t see you the next morning.

I love you.

It’s a feeling.

Tonight this feeling is not sadness, its not despair. It’s 11:56pm and I feel good. I spoke to you for nearly two hours– about how our parents bought a new car without telling either of us, about your upcoming work schedule, about the injustices at your other two older jobs, about your moving into a new apartment soon with two guys, about your need for space and your love for our mom and how it is healthier for you to see her less. We talked about me too–about the stupid nurse manager at my old job, about camp nurse life, about my upcoming nurse practitioner interviews and how I need to take out my piercings and possibly dye my hair a darker color again. We chatted and we listened, we talked about your upcoming need to fix your tires because they’ve lost all traction and how you don’t want to speed above 90mph because if you so much as hit a pebble you could spin out and die.

And you said: “…and I don’t intend to die anytime soon.”

I’m holding you to that.

You said not to wait up for you because you still have 2 more hours of driving before you get to your new job tonight. You might forget to text me. I’ll check in with you in the morning.

You said you’d call me more just to mentally decompress.

Call me anytime.

Again

Again.

And again.

And again.

4 months.

Just four months of peace.

And it starts all over again.

It’s like being stabbed again, and again, and again.
But never in a vital spot.
Just close enough to the heart,
just grazing the brain,
just missing the lungs,
just woven through the intestines,
to make the pain real,
but not real enough to kill.

Just kill me.
Just me.
Why not me and not her.
Just go after me,
instead of her.

Just put the knife down,
and come after me instead.

The Bonds that Never Break

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I left again today for Connecticut. The last time I’ll ever leave for Connecticut again. And it was different. Normally we hug and we hug and we hug. We hold on and it takes what feels like forever to let go. We used to hug and the hug used to get tighter. But today it didn’t. Today we just hugged and you brushed my back – “Text me when you get there.”

It didn’t feel like enough.
I tried not to look back but I tried to time it so that I would see your car drive away, but I missed it.
I only heard the screech of your wheels as you sped away.
Were you crying?
Are you crying?
Because I am.
The minute I felt your body slip away from mine,
the second I had to let go,
the moment you began to pull away from me.

I’m crying and my heart hurts and it doesn’t stop.
It’ll never stop.

Today when you showed up at the door, your eyes were a little red. A little puffy. And maybe I was only imagining it, but were those left over tears?

And yesterday, for Father’s Day – when you said you had to leave at noon for work and I wasn’t able to leave to meet you at our grandparent’s until 11:50. It was the most stressful 7 minutes of my life. I wish mom would have driven faster, I wish she would have floored it, ran the red lights and pushed the cars in front of us out of the way, all so I could get to you faster. I was so afraid you’d leave before I got there. That fear alone was suffocating, my heart felt like it didn’t want to beat and it felt like an elephant was stomping the air out of my lungs. I held onto your mail from home, so tightly like it was actually that important – like it was an extension of you, just because it had your name on it.

Frantically sending you text messages:

“We’re leaving now.”
“We’re on March, but don’t be late for work.” Wait for me, please.

The whole car ride to my grandparents I cried, I cried thinking that I’d miss seeing you. I cuuld give a fuck about Father’s day. The fear of missing you, of not seeing you, consumes me, it eats me alive.

And the relief when I stepped in the door and saw that you were still sitting there, that you had waited the 7 minutes for me.

Smile, pinch my nose and suck up the tears – just tell her I was crying during a TV show we were watching before we left.

This is a picture I took the last week when we were both driving the same way on the freeway. I stayed behind you most of the way and seeing your car made me feel so relaxed. Seeing you there, in front of me was so relieving. Things finally felt concrete. I felt like I could breathe, finally – and breathe well.

I wanted it to stay that way.
And the moment we split directions coming down I-5,
the tears came.
I wanted to keep looking to my left – just to keep you in my line of sight,
even if it meant crashing into the car in front of me.

I love you so much M.
It makes me lose myself,
it makes me reckless,
and it’s all worth it if you’re here with me.

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