Nighttime
It’s night again…that’s the hardest time..that’s when I remember. I want to reach out and touch you but of course you are not here. I wish we would have slept together more frequently – but then it would probably make all of this harder to bear.
In my mind I try to fit the pieces of the puzzle together to try to find a link and clue to what happened to us – where did we go? I begin to realise that you never really ‘talked’ to me, there was all this ‘chatter’ about crap – but no real talk. Perhaps your complaining was your way of talking. Perhaps I should have listened – but by that time I was probably so tired of hearing your incessant chatter that somewhere I turned you off. So that’s my sin…that will be my karma to bear.
And now I try to write to you – hoping that it will awaken something inside of you. But my letters are tossed aside – in favour of what? I don’t know…you keep saying you are in a ‘bad place’ right now you can’t write back to me – the thing I want to tell you is that I want it all – bad, good, indifferent. But like the Sphinx – you stay removed, stony, quiet. Yet I can see the storms raging inside of you ..
I don’t know why we need to keep doing this – it’s like a one-act play and we can’t seem to get the dialogue right. We don’t know our stage directions anymore and the footlights are fading into the shadows. There is no director only the actors. The actors try to give a good performance but there are too many distractions – like an unseen audience has been invited to this rehearsal.
It’s night again – and this time you call me crying because you are alone. I want to reach out to you but something in me snaps this time – telling you to go find someone. It’s my hurt talking this time – my head – not my heart. My logic that wants to reach out and strangle you for your mistakes. For tossing me aside like so much trash, for forgetting. You are always forgetting. I don’t know how to make you remember. Sometimes I think you just don’t like to remember – because remembering is somehow attached to conjuring up your daemons. I lash out at you – I regret it but that does not stop me from doing it in the first place. Part of me feels like you decided a long time ago to do all of this you made conscious decisions and now you have to pay. My cruelty sense is tingling against spyder_boi – what can I say?
It is hard – so hard to keep seeing you – I want to – I desperately want to see you, part of me wants to hold you, soothe you, heal you. And then I remember – all the things you wrote about her, all the things you shared with her. My pain comes back and I don’t love you anymore…I begin the cycle of hate and wanting retribution. Yet you think I can control this…you accuse me of dredging things up, of ‘picking at things’. What you don’t seem to understand is that I am on auto-pilot when it comes to this shit. If you have a switch somewhere that you use (which I am convinced you have) – can you show me where mine is so I can turn off? All those years of Dr. Leary telling us to turn on have hurt me I guess.
It’s going to be night again. You will want to dance. A tango I suppose or some forbidden dance of love, lust, degradation. Is there a dance for forgetting? We seem to always dance around each other - not with each other. We circle like hungry tigers, distrustful, wanting to claw at flesh, wanting the blood of the kill. Tossing the relationship aside like a spent carcass when we are sated.
I want passion, and feeling and love and light, and laughter and the tears as well. Part of me wants the numbness though – so I can say goodbye properly. So I can mourn you – as if you had died and now I can play the role of grieving widow. At least you left behind a beautiful corpse.
I have prepared for the night, I am wearing red lace panties and a red lace bra, and hosiery that is torn slightly in case you want to tear it off. I’ve also put on damask rose – a fragrance that suggests decay – to honour our dying love. Help me to put an end to all of this – help me to bury this relationship. If we do that and build a funeral pyre – maybe something will rise from the ashes – a phoenix – a new life for both of us. Whether together or separate only time will tell.
It’s night again…
In my mind I try to fit the pieces of the puzzle together to try to find a link and clue to what happened to us – where did we go? I begin to realise that you never really ‘talked’ to me, there was all this ‘chatter’ about crap – but no real talk. Perhaps your complaining was your way of talking. Perhaps I should have listened – but by that time I was probably so tired of hearing your incessant chatter that somewhere I turned you off. So that’s my sin…that will be my karma to bear.
And now I try to write to you – hoping that it will awaken something inside of you. But my letters are tossed aside – in favour of what? I don’t know…you keep saying you are in a ‘bad place’ right now you can’t write back to me – the thing I want to tell you is that I want it all – bad, good, indifferent. But like the Sphinx – you stay removed, stony, quiet. Yet I can see the storms raging inside of you ..
I don’t know why we need to keep doing this – it’s like a one-act play and we can’t seem to get the dialogue right. We don’t know our stage directions anymore and the footlights are fading into the shadows. There is no director only the actors. The actors try to give a good performance but there are too many distractions – like an unseen audience has been invited to this rehearsal.
It’s night again – and this time you call me crying because you are alone. I want to reach out to you but something in me snaps this time – telling you to go find someone. It’s my hurt talking this time – my head – not my heart. My logic that wants to reach out and strangle you for your mistakes. For tossing me aside like so much trash, for forgetting. You are always forgetting. I don’t know how to make you remember. Sometimes I think you just don’t like to remember – because remembering is somehow attached to conjuring up your daemons. I lash out at you – I regret it but that does not stop me from doing it in the first place. Part of me feels like you decided a long time ago to do all of this you made conscious decisions and now you have to pay. My cruelty sense is tingling against spyder_boi – what can I say?
It is hard – so hard to keep seeing you – I want to – I desperately want to see you, part of me wants to hold you, soothe you, heal you. And then I remember – all the things you wrote about her, all the things you shared with her. My pain comes back and I don’t love you anymore…I begin the cycle of hate and wanting retribution. Yet you think I can control this…you accuse me of dredging things up, of ‘picking at things’. What you don’t seem to understand is that I am on auto-pilot when it comes to this shit. If you have a switch somewhere that you use (which I am convinced you have) – can you show me where mine is so I can turn off? All those years of Dr. Leary telling us to turn on have hurt me I guess.
It’s going to be night again. You will want to dance. A tango I suppose or some forbidden dance of love, lust, degradation. Is there a dance for forgetting? We seem to always dance around each other - not with each other. We circle like hungry tigers, distrustful, wanting to claw at flesh, wanting the blood of the kill. Tossing the relationship aside like a spent carcass when we are sated.
I want passion, and feeling and love and light, and laughter and the tears as well. Part of me wants the numbness though – so I can say goodbye properly. So I can mourn you – as if you had died and now I can play the role of grieving widow. At least you left behind a beautiful corpse.
I have prepared for the night, I am wearing red lace panties and a red lace bra, and hosiery that is torn slightly in case you want to tear it off. I’ve also put on damask rose – a fragrance that suggests decay – to honour our dying love. Help me to put an end to all of this – help me to bury this relationship. If we do that and build a funeral pyre – maybe something will rise from the ashes – a phoenix – a new life for both of us. Whether together or separate only time will tell.
It’s night again…
posted by Colette at 9:02 AM
<< Home