Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
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Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017

Monday, Feb. 02, 2004 @ 1:00 am

Everything came heavy down on me that night. He's heavy over me and it's too intense, it's darkness and heat and cold and everything is tinged a deep maroon. And marooned I felt, alone on this square flat island, surrounded with a sea of haphazard socks.

"Are you OK?" he asks. As if he cares. I nod, eyes focussed on the streetlight out the window. The rain shimmers down orange.

The decisions come slowly, sadly, defeat. He's won; I've lost. I won't let myself regret this.

Oh God, I'd forgotten what it is like to feel: to let it out, to unguard your heart. And more than that, I'd forgotten about love.

I haven't told him yet. His reaction I predict. He'll pull the strings and the vest will inflate and he'll bob off across the ocean.

The heavy sadness is strange and haunting. Friends are the cure. At 3am, after we've all won the drinking games, I curl up with blankets in the storeroom of the ghetto house. One comes to tuck me in, to bring me a fourth blanket, say his sweet dreams. Another one says goodnight, I'll see you in the morning, and he turns out the light.

Sure the lights are out, but I'm already seeing the daybreak. Without the sad there is no happy, right?

Aftermath in the Ghetto

Roots | Shoots