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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Friday, Sept. 09, 2005 @ 6:57 pm
Winds cycle around in the tropics, my feet on the pedals whir round-n-round, and my heart and his rise and fall like breaths, dying breaths, in the body of love we thought we had born together.
From the outside, all arrows point at me. Everyone thinks I should let it go, set it free, set myself free to spin, whirl, eddy away alone in a quiet swirl. Alone.
One night under the covers he pulls me close and asks if I was abused as a child. All signs point, he says. My bitten nails, my sleeping on my stomach, my inability to make friends and to love. Tears down my face, "THIS IS WHO I AM" and realizing he thinks that Normal Me isn't natural. That being introverted is a condition.
He puts his hand on my forehead and it feels cold to him. Asks if I'm dizzy with fever. No, no I'm cold because you are pulling my warm living blood from my veins, heart. I never meant to be so cold.
What can I do, what can I DO?? I can't listen to music without thinking of him. Music videos. Live shows. Tattoos. North Delta. Captain Blacks. Frogs. Sidekicks. Orange pekoe tea.
I said to him, clearly without hesitation: I don't think we're good lovers.
His head goes under the covers, I feel his pain cross layers of skin and sink into my bones, marrow, absorbing like a sponge.
Without him I ended up with Jeff at the New Amsterdam eating nachos. $7.50 pitchers at Pub 340. High watching the colours change on the sails of Canada Place, his drummer hands drumming my arms, lulling me numb and complacent. Reeling towards the Commodore, arms linked, like and old happy couple in love. OLP, Raine is on stage and I lean back against Jeff's tall body, close my eyes, his hands still drumming on my shoulders. I get off the Skytrain, we watch each other through the windows as I walk away and the train moves off.