Only Love.
When it rains, it pours pours pours—like a hurricane.
Like you’re back in the water.
Like the house is dark and you’re praying the rain will stop.
You don’t remember who you were praying to, do you? Someone who could help, if help constituted controlling a bizarre occurrence.
A fire would’ve been worse. A fire would’ve killed you.
But now you’re afraid of water. You have nightmares. You have two or three months out of the year when you can’t get your shit together because you still hear the water and it never stops coming.
You fall asleep to phantom water sources. You cry in the shower. You think about getting back into therapy again because the last counselor you had said you were allowed to be scared.
But when were you thinking about getting over it?
And your boyfriend didn’t message you for a month so you broke up with him. He could be in a coma in the hospital, but you’re so fucking anxious, you just swallow the feelings and deal with it.
Did you want to break up?
No, of course not. You love him. You still love him.
But you can’t keep pretending he’s thinking about you, maybe regretting not getting in touch. You can’t keep acting like he’s a bird in the window. He flies in, he flies out. He’s skittish, he’s standoffish, he’s too far away to hold.
And you’re back to crying.
Because water. Because boyfriend. Because world. Because tired.
You’re smoking again.
You take edibles to chill out.
You drown everything in the same mundane pastimes you’ve had most of your life. Your husband loves you, but he’s mad at your boyfriend. Your friends are still there, still willing to be friends with you. Cass cares. Your family cares even if they don’t show it.
Your world is brightening but you’re still so fucking dark.
A storm cloud.
A rain storm.
A hurricane.
What good is a house when you’re still looking for a coffin?