I am tired, exhausted really, feeling soundly beaten by my day. All day I’ve tried in vain to search for some sort of goodness to be salvaged from the wreckage of everything that has happened since the sun came up. There is none.
“The day will be over soon.”
For that I am grateful. I want nothing more than to peel all the clothes from my body and crawl into bed, huddling under the big fluffy duvet until morning when I can try this shit again and maybe get it right.
“I miss you.”
For me, there are no words more potent than these three. None. The implied longing. The simmering intensity. The latent vulnerability in feeling it, let alone saying it aloud. It disarms me.
In my mind, logical, reasonable, coherent, I am laying out all the counter arguments. All the reasons I shouldn’t. I am incredibly aware of how rubbed raw my emotions are right now. That I have some leftover feelings to sort through and put away. That being exhausted the way I am makes me careless. That this craving I have, deep down low in my belly just to feel something sometimes consumes me. I know.
But I just can’t bring myself to care.
“It’s just tonight. Tomorrow nothing changes. But give me tonight.”
Because I have my headphones in, his voice is in surround sound. Like he's speaking inside my head, fighting for relevance with the other thoughts fighting for precedence as well. I am standing in the middle of the room, trying to convince myself to sit, but wanting to head straight back out the door.
And it’s seductive isn’t it? The promise that if you just give yourself over to something, maybe it can soothe you, tame you.
Or at least make you forget for awhile.
I haven’t put down my keys yet.
I am somewhere in between his voice and my own internal one, trying to convince myself to be reasonable and rational, but I’m so incredibly, abundantly tired of always doing the right thing. Doing the safe thing.
Always doing. Never feeling.
I am wide eyed. I am aware. I am not blinded or out of control or unable to stop myself. I am choosing.
I leave my caution at home.