I used to be the first person on our floor, the clock still stretching it's hands towards nine o'clock and little monstre already on her way to her second blackblackblack coffee.
Now untangling myself from the perfect places that he winds his arms as we begin to squirm awake in the morning is impossible. The thrill of being able to waltz into work at any hour of the morning has long dissipated, (my one year anniversary of working here was Tuesday but I forgot) so why can't I manage to get here before ten thirty anymore?
I'm afraid to let go, that's why. Afraid to kiss his perfect shoulder one last time before hopping into the shower and washing his secretions from me. Afraid to brush my teeth and forget the taste of his breath, afraid to stop stroking his eyebrow with the side of my thumb for a single moment, let alone an entire day where we go on pretending that we are simply casual colleagues with offices five doors from each other.
I leave at five o'clock in the morning tommorrow for the airport, his flight to Chicago isn't until mid-afternoon so he's sleepin' at my place and leaving when I lock the door behind me to continue his nap at home.
We couldn't handle the thought of sleeping alone under the same sky.
I remember saying he wasn't a pretty man. I can't remember meaning it, though. His eyes are wet and brown and big enough to swallow me entirely every time he reaches over to stroke my hair.
He tells me that I'm pretty in a shy little voice, still afraid of being berated for it. He gasps when I try on new clothing.
He leaves me my independependence.
I'm good at being alone, everybody knows that. I'm a monster, I'm funny and funny to look at and funny to poke at with long rubber-tipped cattle-prods but when it comes time for crying there aren't any tears here, just fury at temporary sensations of helplessness.
PMS, spending time with my parents, watching people walk straight into hurt and never being able to help them take the scenic route around it, I scream these things into the void on starless nights accompagnied by the sickly glow of my monitor.
I haven't spent a night like that in months, and I've been waiting to snap, waiting to fall to my knees and smother him in apologies and explain that I NEED MY ALONE TIME. I NEED TO CRY AND SCREAM AND let the pain ebb from the tips of my fingers.
PMS lasted seven minutes this month, beginning during the drive home from work but by the time I'd climbed the 54 angry steps to my appartment, the door was buzzing with him and fifteen seconds with my forehead buried in that neatly matched crevasse between his shoulder and clavicle, and it was all gone.
All okay.
Wednesday evening with my parents, reminders that my grandfather hasn't spoken to me in five years makes me a bad person, reminders that I chose the wrong vocation, that I'm stupid and will never understand the value of money, all those million things, trying to explain to my father that being asked to speak at the Developer's conference in Paris is about getting my message across not upping my paycheck and failing so miserably that they're still asking themselves where they went wrong...
Ten minutes later I'm in his arms again and we're falling onto his bed and the weight from my shoulders got lost somewhere in the trajet.
I've never really been alone, I know, Steven is and always has been there, probably before I ever met him, Princess wouldn't fail me if ever my heart really did break under the brunt of some particular pressure. And you're there too, Ben and Methy who's seen it too, Bob who denies that he feels it but doesn't realize that he's drowning in it...
I know that if ever it got too cold I wouldn't need to shatter alone.
What I didn't know was that it doesn't have to get that cold. What I didn't know is that it's easier when there's someone to share it with. What I didn't know was that cooking with two people chopping goes twice as fast, laundry folded twice as swiftly, and poetry suddenly aquires double the meaning as it is discussed.
I didn't know any of that, and I'm glad that I haven't grown behyond the capacity to learn yet.
Because the easier my life becomes, the easier it becomes to drive people places, help them with their seventh grade poetry assignments, listen to them when they need to cry.
I guess it's one thing to refrain from crying out of sheer demonstration of strength, and entirely another to never feel the need anymore.
One moment I was worried that I cried to easily around him, every movie had too sad an ending, and suddenly it's all turned around and nothing is too tragic to be fixed or dealt with anymore.
I'm a monstre again, new and improved, and I'm leaving for the airport in twelve hours.
I never thought it could be this way.
~