Dancing Pains

I haven't felt as terrible as I do now ever-
I am so scared, and so hurt, and so very, very
alone.

For-never.

There is not a doubt in my mind that he will twist the dagger again.  On our own, he tells me that he wants a different ending, that he's hurting too and that he hates this-but tomorrow night or the next day or the day after that he will find a path to my public humiliation.  He never fails at that, after all.

In the sweet comfort of my own bed I close my eyes and see the alternative.  Beautiful blue eyes, wanting me to be his in oh so many ways.  I could hurt him so terribly; that is the thing I am perhaps most scared about.  He holds me and kisses my neck when I want to cry, tells me that It's ok to be brokenhearted, it's ok- even if the man who did it was a low-down dog.  I smile and kiss back, but how do you say that you want to be squeezed, not kissed; it's not the promise of sex that draws me back but rather the way he looks at me like I've never made a mistake in my life, I remember that look from sometime long long ago.  So, instead of accepting the crown to his kingdom I close my eyes and try to push brown-eyed pain away.

Late late late at night I lose my mind and want to let myself fall into oblivion another blue eyed angel saves me.  It's nice, not having expectations for once- seeing each other's hurt without judgment or blame.  And, he makes me laugh.  Lovely wonderful laughter that I forgot was possible.  If one person can change so dramatically from love to hateful spite, wouldn't it be possible for another to travel the opposite road, at least to friendship?  If my sins are so great that they are unforgivable, then surely I cannot judge another human based on theirs.

And I don't want love, as much as I think I do.  If it exists, I don't think it's for me.  I had my chance at sweet romance and now it's gone and I'm learning to live on my own again.  It shouldn't be too hard, it was only one quick year before he tells me the romance died away.  Nineteen years of solitude, one year of bliss, and two of slow torture.  I am no Scarlett, there will never be an Ashley or a charming Rhett in my life.  If I'm destined to lonely solitude, perhaps it's better to know at twenty-three than to keep on chasing an impossible fairytale. 

Meredith, five years later.

“I love you.” 

It’s freezing and the streetlight out the window is painting the wall with shadows.     Meredith pulls her knees into her chest and whispers to the air, again and again. “I love you.  I love you, I love you, I love you...” Closing her eyes she allows the tears to come, slow and silent.  Through everything this never changes; always at the worst times the knowledge that she can pull the covers over her head and disappear to the world keeps her safe.  Tonight, for the first night in years, she allows herself to remember and mourn the past. 

Thinking back is like watching an old film, the parts that are in Technicolor are fleeting and have been corroded into a blur of images.  The woods, the sweet smell of spring; the little unmarked stone nestled between the twin birch trunks.  Both of them were buried there, for her.  When she had walked away from that stone, she had shed a layer of herself that would live in those woods forever; her sweet smile turned coy and calculating and her innocence was lost in a screech of tires and blood.

Now five years later Meredith was asking herself for the billionth time, what if?  What if she hadn’t told Ash, hadn’t decided to keep it, hadn’t asked Ken to drive that car…would she be in a beautiful house with a little boy?  Would she and Ash still be together, still be in love?  The love ended that night; there are some things a heart can’t recover from.  Through all the years, Meredith clung to one phrase, one last beautiful memory…

“I love you.” She had pretended not to hear as he approached, but Ash had never been very good at being quiet in the woods.  He was a thinker, not a walker.  An arm snaked around he waist and she sighed a little, fitting herself into the familiar nook under his chin.  

“You know, we really should take the stone into town and have it inscribed.”  She shook her head, silently.  The stone was perfect, nameless- this wasn’t a grave, it was a place of mourning.  And what name would she put on it?  Erik?  Ken? 

“Mere…”

“Don’t, Ash.  Just, don’t.”  She pulled away, fingering a stray piece of birch-paper. 

“What’s wrong, Meredith?  You’re not happy.  Did I do something to upset you?  You haven’t spoken to anyone in days, I’m worried, Belle and Annie are worried…”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?”  She let the moments tick by, shredding the bark slowly.  Finally, she turned and looked up into his eyes.

“I love you too, Ash.”

“But?”

“But…well I need to learn how to be whole again.  I’m going to school this fall, I’m going to be in the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania and I can’t bring Ken or Erik with me.  I can’t bring you with me.”

“So, what?”  Are we just…” his voice caught in his throat, she let him search for words for a long moment before taking his hands in hers and kissing them, finger by finger. 

“Ashley I will always love you, a love like ours doesn’t burn out, it doesn’t go away.  I’ll be yours, always and forever.  I just need some time right now.  I won’t see anyone else; we just need to stop for a while.”  Ash’s breath rattled, but he stood straight and held Meredith’s gaze, brushing a stray frizz from her eye.  Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and black.  With shaking fingers he flipped it open, and taking Meredith’s face in one hand kissed her deeply.

“I’ve had this in my pocket for months.  It didn’t seem right, after the crash, but I need you to know, I love you and I want you to be mine forever.”  The ring was small, silver with a green stone.  “It’s a promise that someday, I’ll give you the kind of ring you deserve.” 

“Oh Ashley, Ashley… I love you, I do!” Tears choked the end of her words but she let him slip the bit of metal on to her finger and pull her into his chest.  This was home, this was the life that she knew and understood.  She let her breath match his and closed her eyes, murmuring into his chest.  “I love you, so much.  I don’t need a ring, I just need some time.”   He smiled into her hair, “All the same, take the ring.”

“I love you…love you.  Love.  Under the covers, Meredith twists the green ring around and around, feeling the crease it had worn in her finger.  She had promised, when she put it on, that she would only take it off to replace it with another ring someday.  She had said a lot of things, but somehow she couldn’t forget that pledge.  Tomorrow, maybe, she would talk to Clark.  He would have a way of reminding her of all the lovely things in the world; of blue-eyed laughter and sweet passionate kisses.  Tomorrow would indeed be another day with another love, another grey hair discovered and another wrinkle formed.  And now?  Now Meredith had herself, and a green ring, and a few dusty memories.

Things I almost remember

Lovely happy thoughts; sipping on hot coco (admittedly a little too hot, but drink it down quick anyway,) staring at stars and silently naming them, counting them.  Stories about the old woman who lives next door, long walks in the woods, the dogs you would like to have and the gardens I want to plant someday. 
We're singing, and I'm spilling everywhere, and everything is just ok.  I'm not head over heels, not now.  But to have someone look at me that way, like they want to eat me up and enjoy every morsel: that is something I have forgotten that I thrive on it.
Walking into the house, talking about everything while saying nothing at all- how wonderful it is to have no deeper meanings to worry about.  When you take my jacket and tell me I look lovely, it's true.  Later on perhaps you will complain about my hair tickling your nose as we lie in bed; I will threaten to cut it all off until you are begging to take your words back and we are both laughing until our sides ache. 
Large sentiments and heartfelt proclamations be damned, tonight I am happy to make love, not be in it.

The things I don't ask

Where were you.  Two in the morning, and of course no reason for you to be wandering around in the mist and yet... there you were on the front step and I am here in the dark alone.  Before I realize what I'm doing I'm raising my hand in the light of the street lamp in a pathetic half salute.  Glancing up at me, you let your eyes slide over and down until your gaze lands somewhere in the gutter to my left.  Sure.  I know you; you're coming back from a walk, some beautiful raven haired girl is probably skipping herself into her dorm and telling her roommate about the most wonderful first kiss in all the world.
Would have asked, could have asked for the truth and despite the bitter in your voice you would have told me...but no.  Lock it away.  Stuff it behind the memory of our first kiss, so sweet under the street lamp; of those nights in an old jeep with pennies in between the seats- the way you looked me in my eyes uttering my full name and those words, "I love you."
Gone, of course, for the better, so we would have the world believe.

Gone and most nights I can pretend it's not true, I can sit with men who make me laugh and talk to boys who flatter and yet.... when one finally leans in there are only two words left.

"I can't."  So, as far as the kissing and telling there is far less of the first part than the second I suppose. 

And yet, I can't ask you the things that would set me free.  I can't hurt myself in order to find release, so here I am trapped in eternal purgatory. 

Where were you?

Para Siempre

A note, though I hate them and I feel it ruins the feel of this blog- this is not to hurt you.  It is for me.  I need to write to find out what's wrong and to process, please understand.  If you need to talk about it, you know how to find me.

Are my eyes still the prettiest when I've been crying?  Don't know, no one to tell me really.  All the things I wanted to say, wish I could have said.  I just want to be the first choice again, not second and not because I just happen to be here.  With him- we will always know the other person has given their heart away.  To you.  I gave mine to you long ago.  And they say hearts are broken, but mine is simply hostage no matter how I try to break the bars of it's cage of memories.  I do love you, still, I thought that was well established.  I don't want to have you anymore though.  I want to be pretty and adored, I want to be light and fun and keep my dark and twisty to late night short story writing.

More than anything I want to be myself, by myself for a while.  Yes, it's lovely to have someone to talk to but really more than anything I want to talk about life and adventures, not bedroom escapades and innuendo.  It's so exciting to be young and alive.  So exciting to make decisions based on myself, to run away for a weekend without having to tell anyone where I'm going or what I'm doing. 

I am so dark and twisty and maybe it is all my fault.  But maybe some of it is yours too, and until you accept that blame we could never work, and I wouldn't want us to.  I am smiling now, and laughing and giggling and it's beautiful.

Must stop watching Gossip Girl

Now tell me, what does it mean to have all your texts and messages returned the week before break ends?  You're only looking for one thing, my friend, and I'm afraid you're looking for it in the wrong place.  Clearly no one told you, I'm not that kind of girl.

XOXO

Emerald dreams

His shirt smells like him, or so I imagine.  Wrong, so wrong for me to crave this still-my dirty little secret folded neatly on my closet shelf.  Every night I tuck myself into bed, silk pajamas and chocolate; waiting for the inevitable tossing and turning until I pad over to the closet and slip on the worn cotton. 
The way he looked at me, deep into my eyes, searching my soul.  I thought, for a moment, that everything was true and right and that somehow the world would resolve itself around the two of us.  And then, hours later, of course there was a Secret, one last big Lie.  And so, cry yourself to sleep little girl, you're so used to it.
Hours pass, minutes and days and I'm not mad except that I'm supposed to be.  I still lvoe or love, or whatever it's supposed to be called. And now he is good to me, and kind to me, and I am confused but happy and I'm not supposed to let him make me happy anymore. 
And then, god damn it, I pull a plush blue canine out of a box, my own velveteen rabbit.  I stop being confused and angry and hurt; and in the hours too late or too early to count, I let myself love him.