Cheesecake

It's the intense, blinding hatred you feel for your telephone and the inability to see the madness behind such emotion for an inanimate object. It's the questions, the ambiguous answers and the questions that come from those answers. It's the roller coaster ride. It's the wondering how on earth you ever managed to sleep alone every night, and how you will again. It's sex that leaves you starved, it's intimacy that leaves you ravaged. It's you, betraying everything you thought you were, and loving, hating every minute of it. It's the clear sense that you, are slipping away from you, it's the fogginess, the blurred edges, the impossibility of interpretation. It's the shift, it's the change, it's a tiredness you can't quite name. It's knowing and it's ignorance.

It's sitting at your friend's kitchen table and watching as her husband cuts her a third piece of cheesecake and knowing you will never have that.

Unfortunate Coincidence

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying ---
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
-Dorothy Parker

Hmph.

Watershed

It's funny how it changes.

How you can sit and stare at your convictions, hold them in your tired, cupped hands, only to watch them slip through your weakened fingers like water. And what amazes you even more, perhaps, is the complete absence of desire to try and capture them, to regain some sort of stronghold over what you thought mattered most.

Because somewhere, in the tiny, wet beads that remain, hopefully, lies something better. A little less certain, a road not quite as traveled, but with the promise of a pool at the end, an entire body of water, waiting, just for you.