It

It

It is over. We are done. You and I are last week’s news, maybe even last month’s. It was intense, it was fun and it was wonderful in parts. I learned a lot. I cared again. I didn’t think it would happen but I did care. It was real; it was authentic. You were authentic. You showed yourself to me as you are. I liked that. I appreciate it very much. I related to you and what was going on in your life. We had that much in common. My experience was, in many ways, your experience. My pain is raw. It just started. Who knows when it will end. For whatever it’s worth, I am glad we met.

 

 

 

 

 

Together

You. Only you, the thoughts of you work. They are the only things holding everything together. I don’t know what I would do without them. Because you are no longer with me, I rely on them to get me through. And without you, there is so much to get through, to get over. I see the green grass, the tress we used to walk by. I see the streets. They work like magic. I am no longer upset.I am no longer sad. You brought life and happiness to me. I love you wherever you are.

Stunned

She had to sit down. There was no other way. The words he had said to her took her by surprise. It was one insult on top of other insults. The accusations were unfair because they were untrue. She had no idea why he was in such a bad mood. When she called 911 almost  at midnight, she did it to save his life. The man had been complaining about feeling weak and tired. She wanted noting bad to happen to him. She had stayed by his side until the mid morning hours. Then she had to go. The following day, when she went to see him in his hospital room, she wished for a smile, a semi-warm greeting, something to show that he cared in some way. As he talked about her not bringing him this and that (some of the things he had asked for) the tone of his voice got angrier and angrier. She wanted to leave the room, yet she felt sorry for him. The doctors must have given him bad news. Even so, that did not excuse his behavior. What had she done wrong? She didn’t know; she didn’t understand. Now she was tired. The pain in her gut was hard and harsh, as hard and harsh as his words had been.

Senile

Senile

You call me senile? What gives you the right to do that? And you call me stupid? When have I ever called you disabled or whatever else? The woman remembered the scene of their fight earlier that morning. She stood on the platform of the subway station. A panhandler near her was playing a song. It was On the Street where You Live from My Fair Lady. The lyrics, something about the lyrics, made her cry. Without really knowing why, the part that goes: I have often walked down this street before, broke her. She leaned her head against a pole. There were other people waiting for the M train. She had to hide her face from them, even if they didn’t care. The tears kept coming down. What have I done? I tried to be nice. She thought. I can’t live like this. This is too painful. She fumbled for a napkin, a tissue, anything to dry her face with. She finally used her hands up and down her cheeks.

 

 

The Land

This is it. Here it is. It is the land, the land of the lost. This is the place where the dreams that never came true go. This is where tears are shed, tears of frustration, tears of anger and pain. The pain is often deep; there is nothing to lessen its impact.  There are no words to soften the blow, the heavy blows of a life not lived the way it should have been. This is where there is at least some true expression of one’s soul.  There are no fake smiles here; no smiles that contradict what a person is feeling inside. At last one can be oneself here. There are no judges, no sour words coming out of a stranger’s mouth. The dreams are honored. They were beautiful and honest. They were a dear part of somebody’s life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Revisited

She stared at him. People were watching from the still open doors of the shuttle train. They were looking at him. He always commanded center stage. A sidebar, that’s what I am, she thought, just a simple ordinary sidebar, a cipher.. She swallowed hard before she spoke: What are you saying? What am I supposed to have done, according to you. He looked at her. You manipulated everything. You did it on purpose. You say you did it selflessly, but it is not true. It is not true at all. All you women are alike. You are greedy. She could not believe it. Was this the person she had risked so much to shelter? What had happened to change him? Something must have happened, but there was no way of finding out. In the meantime, she was the one who needed to take action, to do something positive for herself. Otherwise, after he left her life, there’d be another and another and another man to treat her like garbage. She was nowhere near garbage. He knew it. She had proved that over and over again. The undocumented immigrant from Hell had treated her in a bad way. The last thing she wanted was a repeat performance of that nightmare.

 

 

 

Down Spread

Down Spread

All spread out—someone was by the curb. He lay with his head on a black bag.  There were no shoes on his feet, though sneakers and a grey jacket were nearby. People walked by him; some looked and shook their hands while others didn’t see him. Someone stopped by the Starbucks cup in front of the person and put a dollar bill. Another person covered her face with the hoodie. She stood against the restaurant wall by the man and cried. It shouldn’t happen. These things shouldn’t be happening, she said in a low voice.

 

 

The Words

The Words!

Get out of here! Just get out of here! This is my house. This is where I live! You insulted me more than enough! How dare you criticize and say only negative words to me and about me? She wanted and did say all these things to the man in front of her. They had lived together for a short time. She thought he was nice, with a vulnerable side to him. Now he kept coming at her with attack after attack. Try as she would, she didn’t understand it. What had happened? What had she done? Sometimes she had given up part of her day and schedule for him. No, it hadn’t been worth it. He had turned on her—totally turned. There was no safety—no safety as far as her life was concerned. It was all dark.