Christmas Day

It was Christmas Day,

It was easy, us being family friends.

I saw you three times that day.

Once for breakfast with my aunt and uncle,

And all my cousins,

Second with your mom and dad,

Who didn’t know our secret.

Third, alone with you.

I was half a bottle of rosé in when I started giggling about how you said it was too much effort to put up a Christmas tree.

You said I was drunk,

I said “No, you’re drunk.” As my defense, grabbing for the glass.

You kept flicking my nose as I scrunched it and stuck my tongue out at you.

I don’t remember what we talked about because all I saw was you; you’re face.

Your dimples, they made me smile.

You’re eyes sparkle when I’m drunk.

I loved running my fingers through your hair and holding the back of your neck. I could stare at you for hours, but I wanted another glass of rosé.

I just kept thinking how badly I wanted to be yours.

You didn’t know what you wanted, I thought.

But you were just scared.

And I was too. And it was ok.

“I don’t want to get hurt.” I said.

“It’s complicated.” You said.

And somehow, it was always complicated.

We laid there silent.

I was falling asleep with my back against your chest, your arms wrapped around me, and all I could think about was another glass of rosé so I wouldn’t remember tonight.

I woke up the next morning and you were gone,

I poured the stale rosé down the sink.

One more glass

I had too much prosecco and you had too much whiskey

one more glass

and we were talking about our feelings, our ambitions, you smiled when you talked about your bucket list

one more glass

We were talking about our futures

I said I see one with you and you hesitated

one more glass

I asked if you’ve ever been in love

And you said that was stupid

One more glass

I asked why

You yelled and said because I had the love of my life and now she’s married and it’s done.

one more glass

I was crying and you were lost for words

one more glass

I said I didn’t want to waste my time

And that was it,

I finished the bottle.

Retreat.

And all of the sudden,

I snapped out of it,

And he asked, “where did you go?”

“I don’t know..” I lied.

He knew.

Oh how he knew.

And it was dangerous,

Because he thought he knew.

And he didn’t. 

Oh how he didn’t. 

He didnt know about my darkness,

That there is no other side.

And he doesn’t know that I need help,

But not from him,

That it’s something I need to do on my own,

I’m just not quite sure how.

Because I try to imagine my lighter days,

The little moments of happiness.

But that’s just it.

We are never truly happy, all the time, are we?

We have happy moments. 

But moments don’t last forever.

They don’t. 

Oh how they don’t.

And I’ve tried everything.

Everything.

Why would I drag him into that?

It’s not fair.

The mood swings,

The paranoia,

The screaming,

The crying,

The echos of my demons,

Why would I ever want to bring someone into my darkness?

I want the best for him. 

And that isn’t me.

Oh how that isn’t me.

It was chaos.

He said I was dangerous,

The way I tightened my ponytail, The way I took a drag of a cigarette, The way I climb into my window when I’m locked out, climbing trash cans and scaling walls, with my cigarette still hanging from my lips.

He whispered and said I was dangerous.

The way I revved my engine, throwing into second gear and red lining it, how exhilarating it was and how quickly he pulled away from my hand.

Then seeing the red and blue lights, speeding up as if it were a game. Because it was.

He laughed and said I was dangerous.

The way I took his hand and led him to the edge of the cliff, kissed him on the cheek and jumped, Laughing on my way down to the water.

He yelled and said I was dangerous.

I didn’t understand why he considered all of that dangerous,
It was normal to me, a routine.
It was how it always was. I suppose we knew danger differently.
His danger was in his head, and in a way, it was normal.
It was routine.

I asked him if he wanted to see me,
He said no, I was dangerous.
And he was it was too much,
That I was too much.
And it’s not the first time I’ve heard that.
I’m always hearing that.
Too much.

It was chaos and it was calling me.

too many questions, and really too early to be asking them.

Why do I feel like this after a week?
It just goes numb?
Why do I feel like you’re never in the mood for me?
Why do I feel like you make up excuses.
For everything.
Why do I feel like you’re avoiding me because I want to see your face on a screen,
Or I want to hear your voice on the phone.
Why?
Please tell me,
Because I don’t know.
I’m confused and you’re not making it any better for me and I seems like you’re being distant now.
Why do I feel like I’ll never be good enough for you?
Why do I feel like I don’t deserve you?
Maybe because I don’t…
Why do I feel like a little kid’s toy that they don’t want anymore?
Why do I feel like I’m on broken glass with you.
Why do I feel like I’m taking my walls down for you and you don’t seem to care.
Why do I feel numb.
Why do I feel attached already.
Why do I feel like I’m not as much as I was when you met me?
Why do I feel butterflies.
Why do I feel unhappy.
Why do I feel miserable.
Why do I feel like the relationship ended when it hasn’t even started?
Why are you letting me feel like this?