Escape

Hurting. Aching. Raw fear mixing with fury I don't know how to ease, how to sublimate, how to turn into something constructive. The predator paces the cage in my mind, bars slammed shut before she does something the human will regret later. She wants out, wants to escape this anger and confusion. She wants to run to someplace safe and clean, where the stifling blanket of frustration isn't choking us, where the tension isn't thick enough to cut with only the sharpest of word-knives.

We want to escape. We want quiet, peace, the sense of being loved without anger beneath every word. We want the earth beneath bare feet and the warmth of loving arms around us. We want comfort and a safe place to scream out the pain. We want for it to be okay to be hurting, without anger or questioning why. We want to be allowed to miss the freedom of the skies without accusation of resenting the earth.

I want to escape, to run until the anger doesn't chase me away from you and your tension doesn't cut me like a knife.

Don't give up

Don't give up on me, guys. I'll write more eventually. 

Right now, my plate is even more full than usual and I'm doing a remarkably good impression of Atlas. 

Wish me luck, my friends. 

Forgiveness

We sat in the car, side by side and not looking at one another except brief, short glances... stolen, like kisses in the twilight. 

Normally, when we're together I can feel him like a humming warmth along the line of body closest to him. 

I couldn't today.

I'd hurt him, broken his trust and we were both payig the piper for it. 

My chest hurt- a solid, dull ache that felt like the weight of tears. I'd done everything I knew how to do- explained, and apologized, and now I waited. Waited for the little boy in his heart to crawl out of hiding and decide if he would trust me again. 

Abruptly, I shifted, uncomfortable.The shift reminded me of my wallet in my back pocket, and I removed it before it could get any more uncomfortable.

He watched me move, and I heard his amused, exasperated sound, and before I could look over again my wallet was snatched from my hand and I was being smacked with it and his hand was on the back of my neck. 

It was the first time he'd voluntarily touched me since he'd gotten into the car, and I melted into him. Guilt isn't the Toppiest of feelings, and I sank into bottomspace gratefully.

I'm going to take this thing and beat you with it, one day. Stop wearing it in your back pocket!

I giggled at the image- my wallet being used as a paddle- and he wrapped his hand in my hair.

I always wear it in my back pocket. I've been doing it for 10 years and I'm not going to stop now. It's not like I carry a purse. 

He was smiling now, a more honest expression than anything I'd seen on his face in days.

I'm going to beat you with it one day until there are bruises and you'll wince and be like, 'They're from my wallet on my ass!'

I giggled, and curled into him.

He kissed my forehead. 

Are we better now? I wanted to ask, but when I looked at his face, I saw my answer. 

And I almost cried again, but this time from joy.