Diverged

The gap between
you      and       me
is g r o w i n g.
Has the river forked?

What matters to you is not the same as what matters to her is not the same as what matters to me.

A husband.
A child.
A wedding.
A career.
A kitchen set.
A house.

TV.
School.
Internet.
Friends.
Boys.
Mostly fictional boys.

I feel so young. You seem so old.
We stepped off at the same point. Same sort of boat.
Maybe your river is not the same as mine at all.

Terrible face-wise

It's that weird clenching feeling in your gut
the one where you want to twist up and curl over and roll off
where your arms flail and your hands flap and your fingers flutter
you're breathing quick and heaving great noisy sighing wails as your face contorts and your mouth curves down and hangs open like a tragedy mask

You shriek a bit, babble a lot, sob quietly into the pillow you shoved your face into

So unfair.

So attractive.

Angry

Always.

Simmering just under the surface, with a smile on top for decoration but not much else. When it slips it crumples, cracks, fractures into something pained and resigned and helplessly pragmatic; really, what else can be said or done to fix this? So all he has left is a quip and a shrug.

Beneath it, though, he burns. What's down there, deep, is throwing itself against the bars of the cage he's built painstakingly with easy words and slow breaths. He's terrified, and that only feeds his rage, because he's powerless against it and how could that not infuriate anyone? At war with himself, and he's already lost.

And so he knows that it's won, but he puts on his broken grin anyway, because he knows something else.

Even if it controls what he might do, he still controls who he is, no matter how scorching the heat or how violent the turmoil.

That's enough.

A sigh

It's been a few days, and a few days too long since last I set fingers to keyboard and let out a literary breath held.

Not much to tell but disappointment. I got books from the library and found the first, at least, to be much more boring than than it promised. I got audiobooks from the library and as far as I can tell, the first disc is the wrong disc, though it is labeled as though it is the correct one. In short, I have one disc of an entirely different book, and in a spy novel, one disc of ten can make a crucial difference in comprehension of plot, etc. Disappointing.

The week has passed quickly, however, and that is pleasing.

Not even sure what I mean

i wait and i wish

for more

than

this.

and what is this that i find it inadequate?
it is nothing at all which is why the void gapes like it does.

i wait and i wish

for more than

nothing.

Just go to bed.

I am very tired.

And a bit depressed also.

Not really sure why.

Couple of words

I smell of smoke.
Shower?

Nah.
Sleep.