Full title: Hell hath no fury like – never mind, you’re about to wish you were dead.

And I’m drinking whiskey from a wine glass – (See, I have these glasses, both sets are gifts; my grandparents’ wedding china; a gift from my best friend of seven, eight, nineteen years now? Anyway, I don’t like wine despite how hard I try. You can take the girl out of the white trash but you can’t take the – yeah, you get it. Sometimes literally.) and I’m in some heated argument with whatever person thinks these eyes are worth the tightness around their heartstrings.
We’re talking about something that should be broad; some pro-life statement lit a fire under my ass.

Your drug addiction is bullshit.

And don’t tell me this is the life you dreamed of.

And don’t pretend like you would sign your daughter up for that red-eye flight through
absolutely everything your parents put every thought, whisper, and prayer into avoiding for you.

Because I swear.
I swear, I swear, I swear – if you look into her eyes and you tell her that she has to keep it,
that she has to go through with it,
I will violate
Every. Part. Of you.

And tell me you wouldn't rather be dead. Tell me you don’t realize that you’d be talking to her about your average Tuesday. What does she need from the grocery store? How are her college classes going?
How was lunch with whatsherface?
And you’re looking under swing sets, and checking
her closet for monsters, and you can’t find the little girl who would have answered you
anywhere. And instead she’s like:

Your illness is a sign of weakness; you chose that.
Love is chemical.
Love is fleeting.
Love is impatient. Love isn't kind.
Sunsets are bullshit.
Everything hurts.

Tell me that you wouldn't trade your precious human soul for her to have one more day of –

Breath taking isn't it? How easy it is to be touched by someone. To feel for one moment, in someone’s arms, that – they’ve got you. The sun is rising outside of the window in the living room, and it’s cherry blossom season. You can hear the colors in their whispers, and feel the sound of the otherwise silent room of the inn built into the side of this mountain,

the creek running clear.

08/08/2013

Posted on 08/09/2013
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