Grief and Grieving

The air is dry. Thick. Rancid with lies and hurt. It’s tainted air. I hear him breathe in as I breathe out. As he exhales, I inhale his weakness. Across the phone line; Twenty-five hundred miles apart. Air of deceit, air of loss, air of love. “I play second fiddle to no one. You don’t deserve me.” Air of truth, air of anger, air of finally sticking up for myself. “You’re right”, he says. Air of defeat, air of grief, air of dishonesty finally catching up. “I just can’t love you anymore.” In. Out. We breathe the air of conclusion.

Damn..you could barely have kittens in that time, Deb. Aimee, good one.

My fingers hover over slightly parted lips. She is still now, relatively. Eyes flicker rapidly behind closed lids. Her mouth purses and she shifts position, slowly enough for me to move with her, stay looking into the strange mix of blank limpness and otherness that sleep gave her.

The breath is warm as it hits my hand, and tickles. I reach down for it, into it, holding it all where I want it, controlling it as I can't her. Her eyes open but her mouth does not. I stop the flare of her nostrils with my other hand and watch.

aimee, that was excellent, ma'am.

ita's seems to have some echoes in her tagline...

thanks deb and erika!

yeah, remind me not to go to sleep around ita.

Aimee, I just gotta say "ow" to yours. And I, too, am damn glad I sleep 1800 miles away from ita.

Four weeks come Thursday. 28 days.

Holy crap, deb. I've been reading your updates and I sit in awe.

I sent 14 to my husband. His comment: "So where's 15?"

Fucker.

But in a good way, Deb. Hee.

I have the feeling that I may start chapter 15 tonight. It's going to be tension and release - and I'm going to need to tap into some deeply buried memories to access it properly.

A friend of mine told me recently that the only way he can get to the inner shit that allows him to make music is to be drunk.