You’re mostly gone, but sometimes you come back in the corners.
Tea on the stove brings a flash of Starbucks, and I cry. Scribbling on my mirror sends my mind to those sneakers, and I cry. Sometimes when I’m dancing the air sprints from my body. My soul coughs hard.
It’s an every-few-weeks thing, but still.
On Tuesday I went to grab my heels on the shelf, the one that’s too tall. Something scraped and a sliver of wood slid into my hand and wouldn’t let go.
I tried to ignore it, but everything throbbed, so I warmed water with salt and I soaked.
It hurt like hell, so I went in turns. Five minutes in the water; five minutes to breathe. Finally the skin was soft enough to take the splinter out, and that hurt the worst – but only for a second. I thought I would cry but I didn’t. I cleaned up the blood.
Later I started shaking and couldn’t stop. I remember I did that once with you and you made me eat sugar. This time I fell asleep in a bath towel over the covers.
In the morning I was fine, I thought of you – three weeks since the last time, so the schedule stands.
And I realized this must be the way forgiveness goes: five minutes in hot water and five minutes to breathe, until the hurt that’s the worst comes out and then we’ll be gone from the corners of each other.
Of course, who knows where we’ll be instead.
[CATHY EDWARDS - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]
For the record, I kind of love this post.
That was quite touching. What girl hasn’t been through the long forvigeness? It reminded me of many old days spent just like that. Were I there, we’d go for Kir Royales to watch the sparkle and forget the hot water.
your amazing
i want to read this forever and ever. one day it will become more important to me than it is right now
i can’t believe how much this entry of yours means to me. right now. so much that it’s hard to breathe. in time, all will be ok. just Ok.