34th & Folsom
I live here with my man. A man I've known since the third grade, a man I've been with close to ten years.....since I was 13. Every time I think about it I want to hit him. It's been so long. It's so terribly wrong.
I never thought that I would be this kind of person, but it's so over (even though we're living together) I am going about my business behind his back. I'm in love with a man that will never be mine. I'm falling fast out of love with my high school sweetheart. He bangs me and I want to cry, I do.... I feel bad laying there, wishing I was somewhere completely different. It's a feeling I've only felt once before. When my father touched me. It's a point that your soul get's to, yes, your soul can make noise, a white noise that is so loud it drowns the world out. Your eyes see nothing but a longing to dislodge yourself from the situation.
One morning I remember particularly well.... The night before, my man had this girl over to hang out, and I was sick. I went to bed early while they sat on the porch and chatted & drank. I was seething. He finally came to bed. I figured she had left. I get up that AM & go about my business... happening upon the living room.... where she slept on the couch. Ooooooooh.... I go back to our room and give him some shit. I leave with my bike, because I'm supposed to be meeting my morning rendezvous of course..... at the coffee shop around the corner. As I lift the bike over the couch I wanted to drop it on her. Once I get to the coffee shop, I realize I have forgotten my book. I go back into the house, and they are in the couch bed together! I could have killed her / him....anyone at that moment. A few choice words and a huge door slam and it's finally over. I can finally get out of the web that I've weaved. Thanks Dave... I needed that.
I want to vomit..... it's moving out day for him, and he's holding me and weeping and crying for the past ten years. Look, could you just get out? I'm over it, really.....Finally, that last dumb knick knack he brought here is gone, his cloven hoove has left the threshhold. I'm free of one, bound to the other more strongly now.
Jim and I go for bike rides. Jim and I work on cars. Jim and I drink beer like it's going out of style. We cook like motherfuckers and have coffee in the morning, at my place. He talks and talks and talks, and I listen. I know things about people that never even heard of me. I know the stories that make up his life....and the lives of others. I can finish these stories for him. Sometimes, now, I forget that they aren't mine to tell. The more I don't hear them, don't hear that voice, they fade. The hidden psycho in Jim. He says I make him feel normal. That when he goes home he finds his wife conversing with her hand puppets. I should have known from the beginning that he would never leave her alone. But there's always that hope. Even the tiniest little shard of hope can fuel a huge love, a big, big love.
I never thought that I would be this kind of person, but it's so over (even though we're living together) I am going about my business behind his back. I'm in love with a man that will never be mine. I'm falling fast out of love with my high school sweetheart. He bangs me and I want to cry, I do.... I feel bad laying there, wishing I was somewhere completely different. It's a feeling I've only felt once before. When my father touched me. It's a point that your soul get's to, yes, your soul can make noise, a white noise that is so loud it drowns the world out. Your eyes see nothing but a longing to dislodge yourself from the situation.
One morning I remember particularly well.... The night before, my man had this girl over to hang out, and I was sick. I went to bed early while they sat on the porch and chatted & drank. I was seething. He finally came to bed. I figured she had left. I get up that AM & go about my business... happening upon the living room.... where she slept on the couch. Ooooooooh.... I go back to our room and give him some shit. I leave with my bike, because I'm supposed to be meeting my morning rendezvous of course..... at the coffee shop around the corner. As I lift the bike over the couch I wanted to drop it on her. Once I get to the coffee shop, I realize I have forgotten my book. I go back into the house, and they are in the couch bed together! I could have killed her / him....anyone at that moment. A few choice words and a huge door slam and it's finally over. I can finally get out of the web that I've weaved. Thanks Dave... I needed that.
I want to vomit..... it's moving out day for him, and he's holding me and weeping and crying for the past ten years. Look, could you just get out? I'm over it, really.....Finally, that last dumb knick knack he brought here is gone, his cloven hoove has left the threshhold. I'm free of one, bound to the other more strongly now.
Jim and I go for bike rides. Jim and I work on cars. Jim and I drink beer like it's going out of style. We cook like motherfuckers and have coffee in the morning, at my place. He talks and talks and talks, and I listen. I know things about people that never even heard of me. I know the stories that make up his life....and the lives of others. I can finish these stories for him. Sometimes, now, I forget that they aren't mine to tell. The more I don't hear them, don't hear that voice, they fade. The hidden psycho in Jim. He says I make him feel normal. That when he goes home he finds his wife conversing with her hand puppets. I should have known from the beginning that he would never leave her alone. But there's always that hope. Even the tiniest little shard of hope can fuel a huge love, a big, big love.
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