maybe by 3:00am, the sun will have rose early and it will be tomorrow. i had promised myself that i wouldn’t still be crying by tuesday, but i wish i had learned by now that the promises i make to myself are never ones i intend to keep. i was constantly clambering up and down the vine between mortification and a self-righteous victory.

i hate the sound of a woman crying. i hate the clamor and the strident moans and the sniffing and huffing-and-puffing. it sounds weak. i hate feeling so vulnerable. i only cry at night, beneath my sheets, like a furtive criminal committing a dirty crime.

what’s ironic about love and about life is the enmity that forms between two people who spent nights alone with each other, holding hearts in hands and kissing cheeks and saying that love is forever. love is forever until love gets bored. and i suppose love found me to be boring.

if i knew he would ruin me like this, i would have been more careful. living without apprehension is something that i regret. but i’m left here with my grief, waiting for a beam of light behind a morning cloud so i can wipe these tears and play the tough girl in daylight.

05/23/2004

Author's Note: this is a vignette from quite awhile ago. i stumbled across it and enjoyed it, so i thought i'd share.

Posted on 02/27/2006
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