..when half the universe is trying you, and you want to flip it the birdie and go to bed, clean and calm and happy.
but oh, how elusive those goals, in your current state of being. you stay rooted to where you are, kneeling on carpet with the coffee table flush against your knee, because being uncomfortable right now just seems like the right thing to do, nevermind how unhealthy it must be, replaying conversations and feelings when the other party has long gone to bed. And even if it was at your insistence, who was this said party to not believe you and go to bed anyway??
Tch. It’s not like you need them. sometimes you do, and it’s absolutely dreadful, knowing that without their presence, you could not solve a minor, prickly problem. othertimes it’s just as dreadful, knowing full well that you would continue to be fine and beautiful and flawed and functional without them.
Somewhere out there there is a happy medium, and in the midst of it is where blissful, forever-married couples reside.
“How come I get the feeling you’re torturing yourself instead of sleeping?”
Damn you, for knowing my masochistic tendencies. For knowing what I’m like after an argument, an unresolved one, late in the night. Because I like torturing myself, with the heavy feeling of dark artistry, with the music that amplifies beautifully terrible feelings, with the sad creeping doubt that I will ever be as well balanced as I pretend to be.
And then immediately on the heels of this thought her spine straightens and her chin lifts, and she is beautiful and terrible all at once, and feels absolutely no need to reconcile the two extremes into something more malleable. She is certain – this wonderful and elusive creature – certain to the utmost degree that she is as well-balanced as she ever needs to be, as unapologetic of bite and disdain as she is of sweetness and naivete.
And with that knowledge she sweeps to her feet, every inch of her the regality she never claimed to be, a cascade of butterflies fluttering gossamer wings at him reproachfully from the train of her gown.