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08.22.2003 - 4:11 p.m.

Wise Up

She wakes in the night with a blurred cry, twisting in her bedsheets, digging furrows into her palms. If it was a dream, it is lost, it has already turned tail and run. She sits upright and hugs her knees to her chest, staring straight ahead into the silence and the dark. Her eyes feel small and hot; she thinks of the word sting but does not feel it.

The room is hollow, gourdlike, absorbing her as thoroughly as if she weren't there at all.


It's not
What you thought
When you first began it


(She forces herself to smile, to wave away other people's concerns. She's fine, she says. She's just getting over a cold, she says.)


You got
What you want
Now you can hardly stand it though,
By now you know


She lies back down, and her hair fans over the slightly damp pillow. She breathes the salty scent of sorrow, of fever. She feels a numbness that is so thick, so heavy, it frightens her.


it's not going to stop
it's not going to stop
it's not going to stop


He was beautiful, arresting, almost shockingly so. Yes. He would run his finger slowly over the planes of her face, lingering on her lips before moving his mouth to meet her own. Oh, god, the wet heat of his breath on her neck. The feel of his tongue moving with her own, his hands in her hair, his body shuddering and spilling into hers.

She became consumed.


In the dark, she makes promises. She rolls onto her side and tucks her hands between her knees. I'm not going to do this anymore, she says to herself. I am ending this. I can't do this anymore. I am losing myself. I'm being chipped away, piece by piece, and I'm afraid there will be nothing left. I am not going to do this anymore.

She's said all this before.


You're sure
There's a cure
And you have finally found it


He burned as brightly as any moth's flame and she was blinded, blindsided. She was disintegrated in the face of his presence, a thousand blinking lights ready to spell out his name. He swept into her life completely, and she welcomed him with a hurried, painful eagerness.

The first trespass was fierce as a physical blow, knocking the breath from her body and leaving her reeling. He withstood her tears and accusations with excuses that were both murky and impassive. Then there was a second time; a restaurant window, a glimpse of his head tipped to another's face, his mouth touching a pink and shining smile.

A third time.

Her aching turned ever inward, like the curlicue of a seashell. She became raw and pleading and desperate. Her body felt like an open wound that he kept touching, breaking anew. And he still held her fast in a grip she could not describe, could not understand.


She knows it is happening again. She knows the signs, by now.

She lies on her bed and tears trace slow, hot lines down her face. She thinks it feels different from crying. She thinks it feels more like bleeding. Something seems shattered in her chest. Some membrane seems torn. Some bleak emptiness seems to be filling her.

She turns onto her other side, and she moves against his warm sleeping back. Once again.

She closes her eyes against the world but in the darkness of the room she can't tell the difference.

No, it's not going to stop
So just...give up

go back ::: forward

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JournalCon 2003

6 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland