EVERYTHING

I feel strangely as though I'm watching the world through a fogged up bathroom mirror.  Everything is gesture and flash of color dulled to a gray, not by steam, but by pain.  I want to be kind enough to him to walk away.  At some point I have to decide I love him enough to let him go.  He won't allow any other option.  I miss him every minute. 

There are blisters forming on my fingers from the stress.  Tiny bubbles of stress skin.  I really thought the flowers would touch him.  I had a job interview in Tribeca, and afterwards I had to walk by his studio to get to the train.  I left a little note taped to the handelbars of his bike that said, "I love you."  That would have softened my heart. 

I'm worried because I was told he can't afford to buy his anti-depressants.  I would pay for them.  I would like to find a way to take care of him for the rest of his life.  If I were rich I would buy every one of his paintings.  They are so beautiful.  He always puts himself first.  He always has. 

There's a hardness growing inside of me.  I want to sing R&B breakup songs from the 90s.  I will never love again.  These 50 year old men who've seen the world know pain.  They tell me I will get over this.  Nobody believes in true love anymore; nobody but me.  True love is not something that disappears.  It is the eternal flame.

One good thing, that's what my friend asked me to list.  One thing I'm happy about is that I haven't given up.  I wonder what is going through his mind.  I wonder if he thinks about me.  I wonder if he misses me.  He must miss me.  I wonder if he reaches for me. 

The night before I had to make my confession we sat silently and he ignored me.  We went to bed together and he turned around in the night so that his feet were nearer my head, but that was a week later when I wasn't getting where his mind was.  It is all I want to be back in his arms.