"I’m sorry my heart is heavy and that I use it as a weapon.
I’m sorry it is the reason you talk in your sleep, say things
like is it always going to be this hard? I’m sorry that it is."
"The Battle I’ve Made of Loving Me" by Donna-Marie Riley, from Love and Other Small Wars
, available from Words Dance Publishing. (via withtimecomesunderstanding
#will delete soon
Do you remember what it was to love each other? Remember the chaos? The red dress with the slit up the leg? The fistfuls of one another’s hair in the backseat of your best friend’s car while we kissed each other dizzy? Remember the violence? Your mouth hurled towards mine. My skin under your fingernails. Remember our bodies, possessed by desire? But not the romantic kind. The ugly kind, the now-or-never kind. The I-need-to-see-you-on-your-knees kind. I-need-to-see-you-out-of-your-clothes. Out of your temper. Out of your mind. The desperate, clawing, give-me kind. God. Remember all that? Remember the letters read out loud? The handpicked flowers left to wilt? Remember all the cigarettes? My throat still hurts. I see smoke and I think you. This love is grey because we filled all the ashtrays. Remember the time at the movie theatre? Sorry about that. Sorry my legs got cold and I hated the way you looked at the cashier. Sorry for my raised voice and your hurt pride and how I started crying so I could win the argument. Remember the arguments? The one about how you can’t just lock the cat in the bathroom because it mewls while you’re trying to sleep. The one about the passenger seat in your car and how you’d kissed too many girls in it. The one about leaving. About staying. About the telephone call from your ex. Remember all that? Me too.