The chillest, the happiest. this song

 

April wind, relentless
thick soup of single-mindedness, exposing
vulnerabilities in the
deepest roots of

these walls:
they were useful once,
to be sure.

That was winter,
That was war.

Now they block out the sun
and rain,
both.

(your flowers are sleeping,
prolonged hibernation.

dreaming of how the moon
pulls the oceans
into
herself.)

K-1

Easy to become hopeless.  Like a tsumani of what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-…..

 

Nothing.  I can do nothing.  Waiting, I guess, which is a non-action.  Do I have faith in time?  Maybe not as much as I used to.

Just need to cancel the things I thought I could do, cancel the wedding, cancel everything I thought we could do together in the next few months.  Thought he’d be here now.  Stupid.  Over-eager, and stupidly optimistic.  When things fall through I get angry and lash out. He doesn’t deserve that.

Too much uncertainty like a weight.  Getting out of bed requires more strength than I have, a miracle I punch in to work at six AM everyday regardless.  I need him here.  I’m so. so. so sad.

I don’t want to move to India.  I don’t want to wait another year, another two years.  Feels like I’m beating my head against the wall, and his patience infuriates me.  How he’s not beating his head here with me, just all wait-and-see. And I CAN’T.

 

Indian Trap

Why I never learnt about consent:

alternatively titled, Fundamental Evangelicalism growing-up musings.

 

Before you’re married, you’re not allowed to have sex.

AFTER you’re married, your husband gets to tell you what to do.

Due to this, my “yes” never mattered.  Or lack of it.  The men I met in college.  Y’all were the real MVP.  Thanks for respecting my no.

Hmm.

 

That’s how easy love can be

Every time you dance with someone (s)  another universe forms, splits off from the whole.   That feeling you get when the music is done  is your atoms yanking you back to this one.

Temporary universes, thousands.   Birthed in fire, dead in ashes.  Colored lights imprinted on your soul.