Sunday evening and I am admiring the graceful tilt of a wineglass, this week's Chilean pick slightly too fruity, but full and confusing, and the dregs of the bottle, before I open up another one...
..are like the dregs of today...
Oh the rollercoaster...
May it never stop.
There is a bruise on my chin, barely noticeable but it hurts just a little, words became too strong with my mother and it went too far, in her bright white kitchen, all white tile and white cupboards and white flaring up of anger
"Don't touch me"
"I made you... I went through hell and you've brought me this"
And we spent a while talking this afternoon, after e-mails to Steven who is feeling the weight of his own heroics, after e-mails to Greg, attempting to explain myself
And we talked about her youth a little, from the stories, more stoic than mine, she raised a child that wasn't her own because she loved a man that died in a car crash, then lost the child to his family, left it all behind and moved here with my father...
Who's still abusing her, calling her names, racing out in a fury...
Leaving her alone to hold up a house, keep up appearances
And there's a spot just to the left of my chin that's throbbing just enough to remind me
Never to fall to that.
It hurts, but I have Flatline's growing tenacity to watch as inspiration, Beth's pursuit of passion despite numbing odds, Cf's pursuit of beauty in this holy mess, Steven's living proof of Callahan's saloon, Maria, the most beautiful creature I've ever seen somehow finds room in all of this to still make space for me...
And in all of this I am always going to remember that no matter how hard you hit me
I am never, ever, going to take it out on someone else.
DO YOU HEAR ME.
Never.
Never.
And sometimes, I just want someone to kiss me.
The sky is very far away tonight, but the silence rings of emotion, and tommorrow I am off to great conquests.
Tonight, I am alone with my wine.