(no subject)
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not / Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither / Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, / Looking into the heart of light, the silence. / Oed' und leer das Meer.
I know that you are all probably really fucking tired of sea metaphors, and I am always talking about the sea, the ocean, the salt, the waves. Here is the truth of all truths: I loved him, and he loved me, but I did not want to be with him. And now I am barren, Oed' und leer das Meer, and stripped of the three shining babes that he promised me, and art about our family and the sea. We were going to live on a little wooden boat, I was going to have a yellow kitchen, blue bedroom, or was it blue kitchen, yellow bedroom? Big white comforters, and vases full of oranges; laundry lines hanging in the living room, ducking beneath your jackets to find the bathroom.
I wanted to be the kind of girl to save you from yourself, to keep you warm at night, and to keep you safe. You do not trust easily or often, and I know that I have not helped. But I was there this morning, at five, at four, at three, when you didn't want me. I do not know how to leave you, but even worse: I do not know how to stay with you. We cannot start again. It is too late to start again, because you are broken and I am trash. Your sad eyes are following me, your head buried in my arms, rocking you, soothing you, whispering forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, kissing your neck. But it is not enough, it is never enough.
I know that you are all probably really fucking tired of sea metaphors, and I am always talking about the sea, the ocean, the salt, the waves. Here is the truth of all truths: I loved him, and he loved me, but I did not want to be with him. And now I am barren, Oed' und leer das Meer, and stripped of the three shining babes that he promised me, and art about our family and the sea. We were going to live on a little wooden boat, I was going to have a yellow kitchen, blue bedroom, or was it blue kitchen, yellow bedroom? Big white comforters, and vases full of oranges; laundry lines hanging in the living room, ducking beneath your jackets to find the bathroom.
I wanted to be the kind of girl to save you from yourself, to keep you warm at night, and to keep you safe. You do not trust easily or often, and I know that I have not helped. But I was there this morning, at five, at four, at three, when you didn't want me. I do not know how to leave you, but even worse: I do not know how to stay with you. We cannot start again. It is too late to start again, because you are broken and I am trash. Your sad eyes are following me, your head buried in my arms, rocking you, soothing you, whispering forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, kissing your neck. But it is not enough, it is never enough.