Tossed in here and there. Happy Monday blog family.
When the tears come again, she’s thankful for the reminder. There’s this physical contact of it that takes her back to a previous comfort that more than one doctor described as, “Just not good for you.”
Before him, she would bathe in salt water and count stars and dream of you. That all went away the first time he hit her. She knew you weren’t there to stop it.
She knew you would never have changed any of it – even if you could have.
But you couldn’t do the things you promised, that’s why you left.
Something about a bruise tells her that it mattered enough to leave a mark. Most instances pass without a trace. Comings and goings of plans that never happen with people who don’t matter.
You mattered though, that’s the one thing she will never forgive you for. The one impossible thing.
He lives in Brooklyn and does drugs, fixes cars, drinks cheap vodka. The last time she said she was finished, her elbows bruised from the impact of catching her fall in an awkward position.
Sometimes she considers you something similar to that. Something that that caught her fall in an awkward position. Only instead of walking away bruised that time, she floated for fifteen years. Until you went away. And when you finally did go away, you took everything with you.