If you are sad, be kind to yourself. Do what you need to ease the pain and heal. Cherish the little sun that still shines deep inside your heart.
If you are sad, avoid people who worry about you and pity you. Their concern is contagious and will only pull you down. Deeper.
If you are sad, turn to people who respect you as much as they care about you. The ones who won’t try to fix you. The ones who offer a genuine smile and a firm hug, expecting nothing in return.
If you are sad, cry. And laugh.
When I was nine, I started looking for bottles. In closets, kitchen cabinets and trash bins. Once I found fifteen of them, neatly lined up under the couch in the livingroom. Every find was a small triumph. And a big hole in my heart.
I don’t know how many gallons of wine and whiskey I’ve poured down the drain. Or how many times she promised to stop. Or how many times I believed her.
I still find bottles now and then. Still empty them in the sink. But she’s stopped making promises. And I’ve given up.
I can’t save her.
The day you came back, your presence hit me like a fist.
You turned my way, I turned away.
My stomach turned. My throat ached.
The room froze, but my skin burned.
Want to cry. Want to throw up.
Every time I see you.
I hate you.
I want you.
Still want you.
You wanted to fuck me. Feel my naked skin under your hands. Touch my cunt, squeeze my buttocks and my breasts, bite my nipples and grab my hair. Taste me and hear me moan with pleasure. With pain.
You wanted to come inside me. Take me over.
And I wanted it too. But most of all I really, really wanted you to kiss me.
I walked into this year looking for love. Got sidetracked by lust and ended up with a bruised heart. Rattled. Confused. Back at square one.
He walks on, feeling nothing, like nothing ever happened. A family man.
The worst part isn’t that he won’t love me. I never expected him to. The worst part is his silence. Because I thought I was more than a body. I thought I was his friend. I expected some respect. Some compassion.
Yes, that’s it. A little compassion.
On the other hand. How could I ever expect respect and compassion from a man who betrays his wife?
A woman died today. She was having a picnic in the woods, when a dead tree snapped and fell on her.
She was 93 years old. Her loved ones were right there with her. She had just enjoyed a cup of coffee and maybe a cookie, on a bench in a beautiful springtime dell.
Nearly one century old, she died surrounded by family, thousands of wood-anemones in bloom, and hundreds of trees swaying in the wind.
What a way to go.