Bloody Bags and Muddy Shoes

You are the gentle thumb sweeping across the back of my hand.

You are clutching my fingers in your hand, the reassuring squeeze.

The goosebumps of a warm rain on a cold night.

You are emanating love.

* * *

It was a strange and beautiful weekend. I learned you didn’t think too much of yourself, that you really were scared because of what girls had done to you in the past. My hurt hurt. You need to know what I think of you, drunk and sober. The kindest I had ever met. The most beautiful soul to experience. I want to love your pieces back together.

You must have hit your head pretty hard because you told me you love me.

I was running around, wishing for clones as I searched for your dog, searched for a bag of ice, searched Google about head injuries. 

I told you I love you too, and you paused, stared at me, and pulled me into the most passionate kiss. I wanted nothing more than to be your nurse forever, even after dumbass incidents.

I borrowed your clothes, a simple “this is what I want” smile crossing your face. Like you’d found peace you didn’t know I could give you. Like everything was as it should be, with a bandage on your bleeding skull and a beautiful girl in your baggy clothes.

Cleaning your wound, purging my own. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I’m glad you woke up. Though you should’ve let me take you to the ER. 

You were appreciative the next day. You called me your little nurse, and I couldn’t help but smile.

You wore a horrible suit for a themed party and you loved it, exclaiming “I’m getting married in this!” Tina turned to me and said “don’t marry him if he wears that.” I blushed because she thought it would happen, like she knew his love for me. 

Appreciative, apologetic kisses tickled me all the way home. I slept.

The Irony of This Blog Name

Wondering really can lead to malicious thoughts. I have always been the person who has been too worried about what could be if I just gave the person another chance, and I get an anxious feeling like if I give up I will be missing out on something important. What if I’m missing my chance? What if I give up on the wrong thing?

I recently had an ex contact me, asking if the ship has sailed for us, just because he was wondering, like he didn’t know what to think of it. At first I thought this was kind of sweet, because of course I wonder too what could have been if things hadn’t gone all wrong. But then I started thinking of how he used to wonder when we were in a relationship and how much trouble that got him into during our time together. I think he struggles with the same fear of missing out, fear of making an irreparable mistake.

I don’t have any advice, and life lessons for this fear, as I still continue to battle it. It can be a great weakness of mine, one that leads me to forgive people too quickly because I think they deserve another chance. I want it to change. I know I deserve better than I have been treated, but part of me just can’t let go, is desperate to hang on so that I know where it ends. But you can’t do that.

It bothers me that I’m this way. I can’t know where our futures are going with every single person I meet, there’s just no way that’s possible. I can’t torture myself with “well what if this happened?” But at this point in time I realize that I am the person that will forgive too easily just to see what could be. And while I love being a loving, caring, empathetic person, I think it’s starting to hurt me more than help me.

I would ask for advice, but I feel it’s more of a when-you-know-you-know situation. Plus I’ve always been the person to consider advice and then follow my own head.

All I can say is don’t take someone’s forgiveness for granted. Don’t take it as a weakness. Think instead of why they had to forgive you.

 

Nonexistent

Throughout my day, you are nothing.
Not a thought, not a memory.
Stretched too thin, clawing at calmness in the face of calamity.

You are between the scratches; the wounds.
The sizzle of an egg on the stove – reparation.
The toe tapping gently to sounds of an era in which you belong.
The slip of sultry whiskey, fire within me.
The whiff of tainted lungs, harsh habits and painted skies.

You live your life as an afterthought.
Content in passing, floating through lives in tormented search of belonging.
Scorching others in your path, branding them with memories.

For you too have kissed the sun and been plunged into darkness.
A gentle quiet, love unbound,
Before whispered betrayal reached her lips.

And you too were scarred.