Softly, quietly, silently I sit
in darkness at the end of May.
Tuesday, May 31, 2022
Friday, May 13, 2022
Happy Birthday
"What's wrong?" she asked, nuzzling his scratchy face.
"Nothing," he said, turning away from her to concentrate on his work.
"Something's wrong," she persisted. "I can tell. You know that I always know when something's wrong."
"I just need to work," he said. "I'm so far behind. I don't think I'll be able to catch up for months."
"Don't work," she said, pushing her way into his lap. "Work is stupid." She dragged her long nails across his chin, her crooked pinky catching on the corner of his mouth, and then kissed him on the lips. "Let's do something fun," she said. "Let's do something we both like."
"I can't," he said, avoiding her eyes.
"Why?" she said with a mock whine. "Nobody's here. All you do is work. You never pay attention to me. And today is my special day. It's my birthday. Did you forget? Today you should give all your attention to me. You love me and I know you want me. Stop fighting it and just love me."
He sank into his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. The ache, the pain, the hurt welled up inside him, crushing in all around his heart like a burning fist until it felt like his chest was caving in on itself. He closed his eyes, screwing up his face, emptying his mind, but it didn't help. Nothing ever did. It never stopped. It never let up. It never went away. It was always there; that fucking pain, invisible, intangible, incurable. If he had the guts, he would have cut it out himself, years ago. But...
When he opened his eyes, she was there, patient and unaging, her dark eyes fixed on him. "I'm here," she said softly.
He reached out to touch her face and she grinned eagerly, her tawny cheeks flushed with excitement. He felt his own heart begin racing frenetically, his guts twisting with anticipation, his fingertips buzzing with longing.
But as his fingers felt for her face, there was nothing but empty air and he leaned forward over his desk, alone. "No," he said to himself. "No, you're not."
"Something's wrong," she persisted. "I can tell. You know that I always know when something's wrong."
"I just need to work," he said. "I'm so far behind. I don't think I'll be able to catch up for months."
"Don't work," she said, pushing her way into his lap. "Work is stupid." She dragged her long nails across his chin, her crooked pinky catching on the corner of his mouth, and then kissed him on the lips. "Let's do something fun," she said. "Let's do something we both like."
"I can't," he said, avoiding her eyes.
"Why?" she said with a mock whine. "Nobody's here. All you do is work. You never pay attention to me. And today is my special day. It's my birthday. Did you forget? Today you should give all your attention to me. You love me and I know you want me. Stop fighting it and just love me."
He sank into his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. The ache, the pain, the hurt welled up inside him, crushing in all around his heart like a burning fist until it felt like his chest was caving in on itself. He closed his eyes, screwing up his face, emptying his mind, but it didn't help. Nothing ever did. It never stopped. It never let up. It never went away. It was always there; that fucking pain, invisible, intangible, incurable. If he had the guts, he would have cut it out himself, years ago. But...
When he opened his eyes, she was there, patient and unaging, her dark eyes fixed on him. "I'm here," she said softly.
He reached out to touch her face and she grinned eagerly, her tawny cheeks flushed with excitement. He felt his own heart begin racing frenetically, his guts twisting with anticipation, his fingertips buzzing with longing.
But as his fingers felt for her face, there was nothing but empty air and he leaned forward over his desk, alone. "No," he said to himself. "No, you're not."
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