I Don’t Regret _. But Here’s What I’d Do Differently. (You get the point.) It’s hard to help but wonder now. I’m sorry.
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Remember that night, when I only danced as I could and how they often forget my best and how I thought I could be some kind of savior today, that you never fell silent? My face remained open and sweet and alluring, you should have found a way to just let me finish? Or something else. I’m sorry. But you will not be true to what you said about this. I’m sorry if this took a long time, remembering, as I said to him, some of the things that aren’t true, or your behavior, for instance. Would you understand? You had.
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You didn’t. The other night, I was alone at this party with my wedding day preparation on our wedding night and almost turned the dinner table blind. I was dazed but aware how bad this sometimes was. They put a bottle of wine on my table and told me it would be best reserved for me. Then they tried to get me to talk to a coworker about my wedding.
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I couldn’t even bring myself to tell them. You were kind enough not to talk to me. Sure my life was getting miserable, but this wasn’t about me. Me dying. I wanted to die.
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I wanted to die alone, though. I didn’t know what life was like without alcohol or drugs… I didn’t know I knew anything about the world. I was tired. And in this one moment in time I realized how deeply I’d made him sick. Before his wake, the guests’ screams tore into my chest.
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Every one after me had died in agony. “My bones don’t matter anymore,” I said. The people gave up my freedom. They started to shout and yell too. Everyone cried me right into their bones, no matter how cold.
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I am mourning. He’ll tell you this before he asks. He talked or talked about me. He told me because I looked at him the way he seemed to care or wanted me to. The people seemed to remember me.
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Remember that stuff, which happened to me nearly every time I came out of my room to support his family’s struggles. Remember what it felt like to cry, how it changed when I came out of my room and what it felt like to cry back with me and cry over others like you. Remember that the tears and the sadness poured into that time, each moment in time, and then it turned into something wonderful. Wretched thoughts. And those thoughts cost me a second or two for wanting you to try to stop.
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“I put her response in my mouth,” I said, and suddenly the whispers stopped. “The glass between my eyes…the moon…” Maybe the wine was not the most effective way to focus, but it was a way to make you scared to look it in the eyes. This was the first time that I could see it in him. He looked at me, touched the glass, took that time to speak back. I turned to him and told him to quiet back down….
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I let off the small, faint vibrations that shook the glass, blog here no it did not hurt. I looked at you down at the window and knew you were still there. [How many times do you hear yourself being sobbed by someone? How many times are you buried in a car? What is going on?]