Five Things (plus)

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I have freshly painted toenails, cherry red and shiny. I pinned my hair into a messy bun, fussed over the proper twist of each wayward curl. My lips are stained a popsicle flush. And yet, I’m spending the night by myself, picking basil, making my own pizza, finishing a sewing project. This is enough.

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beyond the curtain.

beenthinking:

Of course these nights are facts of life. You realize. They are not piteous. That’s not the point; They are marrow.

Here’s a complicated confession:  You don’t want what you had back, now. That’s not right for anyone. And you’re not ready for someone new in your bed; It is a good time to be alone.

And yet…there is an undeniable or unavoidable vacuum where One Was and Another Is Not. There are hours and exchanges and interludes and routines and machinations that one cannot do…

One cannot do.

This is just A night. One little tempest of a mood that will blow out by morning. It is not Defining. You know. You know. But here it is, still. This restless barefoot wandering through the house, this relentless suspicion that you’ve misplaced Something.

The clothes are not entirely dry, but you are out of quarters and so they will have to do.  Next door a man moves in with his bike pump and you watch his back move down the hallway, just to share an experience without having to say a word.  Without having to give anything at all.

The clothes aren’t dry, just as your one body does not expand to fill this entire bed. But you will crawl in anyway, with a stack of books - hoping one appeases your tenor. Knowing it won’t. Flipping from James to Gilbert to cheap lit to theology, equally dissatisfied as you are meant to be on a night like this.

 Thank you for this

Reblogged from been thinking....

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This is a chance to start over. I deserve to be happy.

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women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.

beautifulordinaire:

Oscar Wilde, The Sphinx Without a Secret My uncle’s advice to his brand new son-in-law

Reblogged from the beautiful and the ordinary.

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I don’t know what it means that I miss you so much

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Yesterday: Crying myself to sleep. Wondering how it is that I became so isolated, when I made him the most important person in my life. Worrying that the roommate is leaving in less than two days. Feeling like this time, I might not make it as easily as the last. Feeling too tired to even think about it.

Today: Yummy breakfast. Eight-hour day. Garden work with my dad and brother. Getting through and not obsessing. It’s just a day. It’s just a year. It’s just one person. People survive. I survive.