“Just want to feel you’re there… When you’re gone I have no one to tell…I am not enough. ” – FKA Twigs
Fiction. Based on True Push-backs.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
There is a hole in your heart. A big one. It’s growing and growing and maybe it will take over. A black hole. Consuming everything around it because the pressure, the power, is too strong for a rib cage to contain. When you first unleashed that pain, it was in a letter. A letter that you sent. Unlike all the others. Unlike the screams and tears thrown at your partner. Unlike the crescent nail imprints in your palms. Unlike the stuffing down and away, you finally sent the letter.
It was addressed to the two people you always hoped were your real parents.
Yesterday at your daughter’s birthday you considered telling a friend the time and place. You considered inviting her last minute. But you allowed the fact she didn’t tell you she was home excuse your lack of trying. You justified your lack of by blaming her lack of.
You posted the pictures on social media as you did last year. But also knowing she’d see them. So today she texted you.
“How was –‘s birthday?”
You told her the truth, but blurred the lines to make it seem as though the event was reserved for immediate family. Blurry lines to make it seem like you didn’t ignore her on purpose. Like you didn’t purposefully, intentionally forget to invite her. You even threw in there that since you didn’t know if she was home you didn’t bother to mention the party to her.
She told you when they got home and you played the role. Asking how the trip was. Responding to her desire to spend more alone time with her new boyfriend. You play the role.
The good friend role, supportive and happy for her because she is happy. But you’re not. You have never disliked someone as much as you do her boyfriend. He’s changed her in an enormous way. He’s narcissistic and frankly, he is a pompous ass. Every time you have a meal with him you want to throw hot food in his face. But her eyes sparkle and you’d rather taste blood than lose your friendship.
Except you already are. You are already losing the friendship. Since she moved in with him you never see her. You rarely hear from her. And you barely want to. You barely want to see or hear from her. She’s not the person you once lived with. She’s not the person you once relied on, believed in, or loved. She’s morphed into whatever this boyfriend has wanted her to become.
Realizing that you are losing her because of your lack of, you text her one more time.
“When my in-laws head home, you two should come over for a BBQ?”
She agrees, as she always does. Whether or not she shows up, you have no idea.
It hurts. A lot. The last time you really spent time with her she laced her arm through yours and told you how badly she misses you. And yet. Her boyfriend and his friends and his plans take precedence. You hope that will fade.
Disintegrating in your touch, the oils on your fingertips wear a hole in the corner
Of the Rice Paper Relationships stacked up around you
See through, misty blurry these connections you have
Too much pressure and they collapse, fall through the center from the weight of
Expectations, hopes, reliances – your alliances crumble with a single touch
Melting away the words in my mouth leave behind a funny taste
Dissatisfied, dehydrated, lifeless – a funny taste indeed
Water soluble – you wash away with a single drop
For decades you carefully wrapped all your Relationships in
Rice Paper sealed with a wet kiss
Hoping to protect them in a malleable crystalline starchy pulp film
Now each and every tear you shed burns holes in the paper
Seeping disappointment taints that protective film all the way to the core
When you look up, searching for your Rice Paper Relationships
All you see – melted starch and wilted love, wholly, holey – gone