I dunno what to say.
I dunno what to think.
That'd be a multi-million dollar poem in itself if I just happened to be Rembrandt.
Why are the rules different for paintings?
Because you can always reprint what I've said?
Recite, recall, rescript?
How unfortunate for me, but you
you get the gift that keeps on giving.
Phone keeps ringing.
Probably something important but I don't think I'm picking it up anyway.
Besides there's a bit of a mess on my fingers.
No bloody hobby knife, no kitchen sheers or paint, charcoal's in the bin, and to my recollection I'm not banging my digits in any strange orifices
Oh for it to be
any of those things...
... so I caved. I ran out of good reasons not to pick it up, just selfish ones like - leave me the fuck alone.
"Are you home?"
compulsive truth telling in
"can you let me in?"
as usual the house is a fucking bomb of moldy dishes, dog hair, and drool spots either from mastiff jowels or passed out pantsless alchoholics
"sure hang on a sec"
I pop the front door open and flop into my recliner. Self defense mechanism I think. Keeps anyone else from sitting in my favorite chair if its the first thing I hit after opening the door.
Some people just knock.
Some people call before they drive -all- the way across town.
Some people have something important to say.
This person wishes he had a drink.
She kept standing. Not a good sign. Arms crossed, didn't set down that giant bag of hers, adjusting her jaw like she's unhinging it to bite my head off
here it comes
"we need to talk"
"the we need to break up talk, or I left the seat up talk?"
I say with my greasiest, smarmiest smile.
"will you be serious one fucking time?"
"No." I say matter-of-factly. I put my finger through her belt loop and pull
there's no argument on earth that's worth having, hence why I normally skip the dialogue and just go for sex and apology dinner
in that order.
She gives me that puffed up lazer-eye bit, bats my hand away
She even goes so far as to turn and start stomping out.
Why such resolve?
I catch her by a very thin wrist and she whirls.
I didn't catch one in the jaw... I guess a few bad experiences had taught me to expect it by now.
When she started I tensed
and I think she remembered something I had told her
something to the effect of me being a bit of a fixer upper.
Clenched fists turned to flat palms over my heart
that ginormous bag of hers fall with a clang on the hardwood
and if I didn't know any better I'd wager those wet spots on my shirt were tears.
"I can't do this any more."
I am a bad
I scritch her back, think to myself how to salvage the sex, or at least ... everything.
Don't yank my life from under me.
Even if I stole it from somebody else.
A hand through her hair, grazing a strand back behind her ear, pulling her chin up to look at me instead of her shoes.
I just always thought I looked better than pumps.
And I'm smiling at that thought, and I'm watching my future in her eyes.
"What'd you tell him this time?"
She worms a hand up to her eyes and brushes them dry.
... I was going to give her that belt ... and an entire rack from victoria's secret.
You get smart about this shit after a while
"Take a seat"
I wander off into the bedroom, grab the plastic sack off my hamper and hand it to her.
and yes, there is some sick thrill to her wearing underthings I picked out when she's with him.
... I didn't tell her to sit in my recliner but I find myself quickly forgiving her, thumbing fresh salt water off her face as she's fallen apart again.
Sobs this time, hacking, sniffing, practically hiccupping.
I wonder what she's more upset about...
"I'm not going to stop loving you." I say to her forehead, can't say it to her face if she won't turn her chin up when I put my finger under it.
Can't kiss her.
A big shuddering sigh.
"I'm not either."
I've heard that one before.
I stand her up, either out of chivalry or because that bitch is in my chair...
her hands fall limp to her side, her face planted again in my chest.
She can't stop shaking.
I don't know why that word always works
but it does
ask any of em
there's some kind of magic behind it.
She looks up. Misty, beautiful, tragic.
Last two people on earth when we kiss.
So much more to it this time
almost as if