Can't tell, no direction.
This entry is just for me. No imaginary conversations with Billy, no messages to friends, no nothing except my own confusion.
I must be catching up on my rest, because for the first time in months I feel like I can think. Physical needs --not wants, needs-- met, sleep, food, bathing, walking all covered as soon as noticed needing...and the conversations with Scarlett, letting me look at that night, all the nights, feel the emotional tangles without the tension...So now, instead of jangling with alarms and cries, my head is a quiet, although untidy, space of questions, observations, images, needing words to sort them.
What do I really know about Bills? Him about me? Sure, we've had some really heavy conversations, but have we ever had just a day together? Without drama, without pain, without sex, without anything but waking up, ordinary life, events of the day, going to bed?
I can't think of one. Not one.
No wonder then, that I don't know what's going on with him. With me. With us. Maybe there is no 'us', because we've not made an 'us'. We've made an 'it', a relationship of mutual attraction and need and care-but always in the context, it seems, of huge griefs and untenable pressures, threats of violence and damage always present.
Who is the me Billy stays with? Who is the Billy I love? Are they real? Can they be?
Must not be rested enough. This line has brought tears, just leaking out, dripping down cheeks to chin.
Still tired.
I'm going to go nap on the deck, in the dappled sunshine. Greengold where I can find it.
I must be catching up on my rest, because for the first time in months I feel like I can think. Physical needs --not wants, needs-- met, sleep, food, bathing, walking all covered as soon as noticed needing...and the conversations with Scarlett, letting me look at that night, all the nights, feel the emotional tangles without the tension...So now, instead of jangling with alarms and cries, my head is a quiet, although untidy, space of questions, observations, images, needing words to sort them.
What do I really know about Bills? Him about me? Sure, we've had some really heavy conversations, but have we ever had just a day together? Without drama, without pain, without sex, without anything but waking up, ordinary life, events of the day, going to bed?
I can't think of one. Not one.
No wonder then, that I don't know what's going on with him. With me. With us. Maybe there is no 'us', because we've not made an 'us'. We've made an 'it', a relationship of mutual attraction and need and care-but always in the context, it seems, of huge griefs and untenable pressures, threats of violence and damage always present.
Who is the me Billy stays with? Who is the Billy I love? Are they real? Can they be?
Must not be rested enough. This line has brought tears, just leaking out, dripping down cheeks to chin.
Still tired.
I'm going to go nap on the deck, in the dappled sunshine. Greengold where I can find it.