He asked if my fingernails were growing.
That's a joke.
I haven't stopped chewing them since elementary school. Sure, I grow them out now and then, if I need to scratch someone's back or gouge an eye. But then it's back to gnawing memories around my cuticles and biting at anxious hangnails.
We did so well at first.
A pixie and a blacksmith, riding a wave of mushrooms and blanket forts and silver rings. Now I can't tell whether I'm wearing my thigh-high stockings for myself or for him anymore. And I hate the sound of forever these days. It laughs at me. Tells me I thought I'd found it, but really it's still around another corner. Time is a class-A asshole.
I've lost track of everything.
Did I take my medication today? Was I drunk last night? Am I dreaming?
It's anyone's guess at this point.
He asked me why I wear it on my middle finger now. I couldn't say. I just switched it over one day from my ring finger and I haven't put it back. Maybe I'm afraid of another big bad wolf coming to blow down our house of cards. In any case, he can sense the change, but he still kisses me like he's forgotten. I know he hasn't.
I've brought him blossoms and I've brought him lightning and I haven't brought him much to stand on.
Someone told us she was excited to see such a happy couple. I could have cried right on the spot. He makes me miss the way my mother used to tell me she was proud of me. I haven't told him any of this yet.
Last night he said I was holding it all over his head. Because I threatened to leave. Because I didn't back down. Maybe he thinks the power is exhilarating for me. What he doesn't see is the stitches on my lungs and ribs from the impact of my own fears. What he doesn't see is my hurt.
But then there are the days - no, the moments - when I look at his face and I see the blue in his eyes again, and I remember what brought us here and why we put our shoes on in the first place. And all I want is him around my arms and legs. Maybe that's what counts. Maybe I'm just fooling myself.
It's anyone's guess at this point.
That's a joke.
I haven't stopped chewing them since elementary school. Sure, I grow them out now and then, if I need to scratch someone's back or gouge an eye. But then it's back to gnawing memories around my cuticles and biting at anxious hangnails.
We did so well at first.
A pixie and a blacksmith, riding a wave of mushrooms and blanket forts and silver rings. Now I can't tell whether I'm wearing my thigh-high stockings for myself or for him anymore. And I hate the sound of forever these days. It laughs at me. Tells me I thought I'd found it, but really it's still around another corner. Time is a class-A asshole.
I've lost track of everything.
Did I take my medication today? Was I drunk last night? Am I dreaming?
It's anyone's guess at this point.
He asked me why I wear it on my middle finger now. I couldn't say. I just switched it over one day from my ring finger and I haven't put it back. Maybe I'm afraid of another big bad wolf coming to blow down our house of cards. In any case, he can sense the change, but he still kisses me like he's forgotten. I know he hasn't.
I've brought him blossoms and I've brought him lightning and I haven't brought him much to stand on.
Someone told us she was excited to see such a happy couple. I could have cried right on the spot. He makes me miss the way my mother used to tell me she was proud of me. I haven't told him any of this yet.
Last night he said I was holding it all over his head. Because I threatened to leave. Because I didn't back down. Maybe he thinks the power is exhilarating for me. What he doesn't see is the stitches on my lungs and ribs from the impact of my own fears. What he doesn't see is my hurt.
But then there are the days - no, the moments - when I look at his face and I see the blue in his eyes again, and I remember what brought us here and why we put our shoes on in the first place. And all I want is him around my arms and legs. Maybe that's what counts. Maybe I'm just fooling myself.
It's anyone's guess at this point.
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