I Would Like To Be Loved

I would like to be loved

And perhaps this is selfish of me

But if the most selfish thing I do

In this life

Is long

To be wanted

So be it

For I have already

Burned for this sin

My desire a fire

That has left me scarred

And my heart

Disfigured

The night is always young somewhere

The darkness

Still a child

That may yet be taught

How to hold love

In the spaces between its teeth

Hurricanes blossom

All disasters were once children

For they had to grow

Learn to be

The tragedy they were destined for

And in this way can any crisis

Be averted?

For who are we to interfere

with fate?

~

My lips are bruised peaches

My melancholy a docile creature most days

I wonder if in another life I will become

A medium size star for what I have done

Or for all I have not

Ordained for the most gruesome of celestial deaths

Planetary nebula

All the violence of unbecoming

Without the supernova beauty of unravelling

~

I have never been kissed

I have never been held like

Blooming daffodils

Like the black hole before it

Becomes.

Do you think the black hole is

Deserving

Of what it takes?

Do you think it cruel?

Do you think it does not hate what it has become?

Do you not think it tries to be

Small?

To take less?

Do you think it is easy to

Devour the world

To hold the universe in the pit of yourself and still feel

Empty

To be insatiable

To repent for the hunger

Gifted to you by oblivion

~

We have only ever seen

One side of the moon

And in this way I mourn

But who could I still become

If I stopped grieving the loss

Of the woman I thought I would be

~ and even the end must first begin

He sets his spoon down and I hear the crinkle of the newspaper being folded. I glance at the clock then at him.

"A little early to be..." the words die on my lips.

He's looking at me. His soft blue eyes suddenly sharp. He never looks at me these days. Not really. I think he is afraid of what he might see. Or more of what he won't.

He clears his throat.

"I'll be away for business over the weekend. I'm leaving Friday morning."

"Oh." Is all I manage, staring back, fighting the butterflies that leap to life in my stomach.

He breaks eye contact and I tell myself it is because those few seconds were all he could bear and not because the joy I failed to keep from my eyes stung him. He rings the bell for the maid signalling he's done with breakfast and ready for his things, placing it gently back on the table before he speaks.

He swallows staring at the wood of the tabletop, "You may wish to invite company to-- pass the time. If you do I shall ask Charles to stay on call while I am gone. Should you need to take the carriage anywhere."

"Oh," I find myself repeating. "Oh, no. No, I couldn't. Truly. I'll be just fine on my own."

"You need not worry about appearances." He offers quietly. "I can handle any untoward rumours."

My husband has never been a loud man. But he is far from quiet either. Always firm and focused and articulate. His actions. His gaze. His words.

This person standing before me is foreign. Is blunted around the edges. If not defeated, losing a battle that seems to have been raging longer than I've known. One that has been wearing him down slowly but surely.

You need not worry about appearances.

And in only these words he is telling me he knows. He is telling me he will not interfere. He is giving me some warped form of permission.

I can handle any untoward rumours

And in only these words he is telling me he knows. That others do too. That we have been the subject of the kind of gossip that buries itself under skin and drives reputations to rot. He is saying he will save face for us both. That when the speculation comes for us, he will defend me. I try and tell myself that of course he would. For such talk would be the end of him too. But I know I am fooling myself. He could abandon me. Let the stories devour me until my gowns were ragged and I was destitute.

This has nothing to do with shielding his pride from being wounded by others finding out what his wife was, or did when his eyes were turned. No. If this had to do with pride, well I would have dealt with the fallout a long time ago. He does not have to do this and yet he is. For me. And I find myself wishing in this moment his intentions were more selfish so I did not have to feel so terrible.

I try to ignore the fact that the way he says these words implies he has handled worse. That the rumours might be easier to deal with than the betrayal. The heartbreak.

I try to ignore the fact that he might be heartbroken. That I may have broken his heart.

"I-- I think I would rather be without the staff over the weekend. Have some time to myself." Without prying eyes. He may be able to handle rumours but I don't know if she can. I choose my words carefully. "And I do not believe I'll be needing to leave. I think I'll spend the time resting." In bed. With company. With her.  I choose my words carefully but it does not matter. He knows. Of course, he knows.

He nods just as Lucy enters the room. I take the coat from her. "I've got it, thank you. You are dismissed."

She bows her head politely and retreats into the hallway. He tucks the last of the papers into his briefcase and snaps the closures shut.

"Here," I say as he turns, "let me."

He isn't looking at me again. He's looking at the jacket in my hands. The hollows under his eyes seem darker than they did even a week ago. I realize I don't know if he's been sleeping. I haven't asked. And he's hasn't said anything. We haven't shared a bed in months. When was the last time we spoke? Really spoke? Had a conversation that wasn't idle chatter to pass mealtime?

He nods allowing me to help him into the sleeves but steps away as soon as I'm done, managing the buttons himself.

"Whatever will I do with myself while you're away?" I tease, but it comes out dry. A futile attempt to lighten his solemn mood.

I'm sure you'll find something to keep yourself entertained, Emma. I expect him to respond back, much too seriously, just as he used to. As he used to when we smiled together. When we made conversation. When he looked at me and was not afraid.

But instead, he pauses with his back turned to me hands clutching his briefcase on the table.

"Be happy, Emmaline." He says softly but clearly. "While I am away, be happy."

My heart shudders as I exhale his name. But he is already striding out of the dining room down the hall. The front door opens and shuts within a moment, but the echoes linger long after, haunting the halls and hollow rooms of this house.

You have softened all my edges.

And I am afraid

That when you leave,

(As they all

Inevitably do)

I will be left

Defenseless

Against

The world.

~

I run my fingers over all the places my skin is pulled taunt.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"I know."

But I want to want to.

For you.

There is not enough space

Between the lines

To hold

Everything

I failed to say.

~

I wonder often

If they will remember me

As anything other

Than what I helped them forget.

So I make promises

Knowing they will be broken,

In an attempt

To collect sins.

Hoping

In the end,

I might

Cash them in

To see you again.

~

I say

I forgive you

But you tell me

It means nothing

Because you do not

Forgive yourself.

Then what am I worth to you?

What am I worth to you?

For are you so staunch in your belief,

That you do not deserve

To be loved,

That you would shatter my heart

To prove yourself right?

~

I tell myself,

If I could not make you love me,

I will at least

Make you

Miss me.

But I do not hold it against you.

For if I left me

I would not

Long for my return

Either.

~

I title this chapter

Lessons on forgiving

Myself

When I deserve it

Least.

In it,

Sorry

Is not used

Once.

~another compilation of thoughts only beautiful out of context

The silence in the aftermath of an apology is a conniving thing

Greedy for forgiveness

Pulling assurances from you before you are ready to give them

They say forgiveness is a small price to pay for peace

But the question is who's?

Is my clemency enough to buy redemption for 2?

Are your sorries enough to purchase you freedom from guilt?

And if I cannot find my peace without granting you yours too

Then so be it

A lie is a small price to pay for justice

I promise myself I will unforgive you

That I will unaccept the apology somehow

That the sorries you mail in cheap white envoples will be returned to sender

That the meager words you offered me that I swallowed for the sake of hospitality will not be digested

I tell myself your suffering is worth the cost of mine

That if enough of your guilt devours you from the inside out, you may soon become emptier than I am

But we are both being eaten alive

For some things in this life are insatiable

Are merciless

For this we both know

So let it be be a waiting game

To see who holds out longest

Before mercy takes us

For herself

~ i do not care if you are sorry anymore (02.21.21)