the bottles on the table.

[girlhithot]

i wish i could cut my hair. it falls over my shoulders now. i can hide behind it when i'm drunk or laughing. life without him is different. i sat listening to coltrane, smoking out the upstairs window waiting.. waiting for the room to move again. he sang me to sleep and past the numbness that began to manifest in my every movement. fighting fucking crying drinking.. i felt nothing after all of it. i can't remember how it began, my nerves one by one begining to sleep, rejecting conciousness and falling back away from touch and heat. he would be in my bed, or pulling me into him, up against the cold tiles of his shower and then into bed. head between my thighs, whispering prayers into me, breathing my name, or searching for feeling anywhere his fingers could reach. the movies lie the radio lies the reflections in the mirror lie. there was no soundtrack. but i kept trying, looking with my eyes closed. and there was a man in the wings shouting my lines at me, re-writing the script, aching for the glance i couldn't give him and the kiss that my mouth would never place upon his. love is not an idea, and he never knew that it ment anything more than speaking.... and that the only passion worth having is that which lies in everything that can't be said. i've never trusted enough to fuck. people ask me how i could have managed to stay with him for as long as i did without, and the answer was always easy. i miss him. i miss him and i can't stop, but i can't feel anything. and the boy in the wings will never know. the boy in the wings never sees anything past the stage.