the 5 stages of us
I. DENIAL
it's hard these days because there are people swimming around my head,
swimming laps in a pool that's a bit too deep to be safe, and i want
to yell at them to get out before something happens
(like an accident, something terrible) and then they won’t be swimming,
they’ll be sinking. inside my head
there is an accident, something terrible.
how many chinks in the armour can you get away with
before you have to toss the whole bloody thing out?
this is the kind of question i ask myself on thursday afternoons when i am
alone and pretending that i made you up. i am pretending
that i have thrown away your letters and i am pretending that i am
satisfied with the lot i have drawn and i am pretending that
i would say no to you if you asked me again.
we are twelve years old again
at school camp and we are sitting on an old wooden bench that leaves
splinters in our thighs, we have just eaten the same
bowls of soup, and you are full, and the lady comes around with the
big pot again and says: would anyone like a second helping? then
i look up and i open my mouth but then i'm looking at you
and your eyes are saying: hasn’t she had enough? so
i say: no thank you, i’m full (i use my hand to cover the bowl
just so you know i really mean it).
now i am pretending that i am not ashamed of pretending.
II. ANGER
good things come to those who wait
but i have been waiting for a long long time, perhaps
even longer than you, and i am getting (sort of) (a little bit)
tired of it. we’re walking at night and it's cold but
you don't offer me your jacket because you're not that kind of guy,
and i'm not the kind of girl to ask for it even though
we’re walking at night and it's cold. so we’re walking and i'm just
thinking about your jacket and how it would be warm in more ways than one,
so i imagine seven different ways i can take it from you
and make it mine, because that's the only thing i'd be able to get
from you anyway. it's night, it's cold, the moon
is full but we’re feeling empty, because the seven different ways to make it work
don't end up working inside my head. i’m feeling empty
and hungry
like i could maybe swallow everything whole,
you, your stupid jacket,
and all the other stupid things you’d never think of giving to me (all
the stupid things that i won’t ask for) and
maybe i hate you a little bit for that even though it's not your fault.
it's just that we’re walking at night and it's cold but it was supposed
to be warmer than this, you were supposed to be warmer than this,
but it’s seven degrees outside and seven degrees inside
and i'm cold in more ways than one.
III. BARGAINING
i think we both realised in our own ways that ours
was not so much a love story as it was a story about love. i think
i'm still trying to be okay with that. this is where it gets ugly, this is where
i start unspooling like thread, like the very last straw has landed
on the metaphorical camel's back, like the very last metaphorical stopper
has been pulled, like i'm sick of metaphors and dancing around my
words to make them pretty, to make them fit in nice packages and tiny pills
that you can swallow without choking. i want you
to read this and choke.
did you know, i wanted to ride a ferris wheel with you? i had to
go home early that day but if i'd stayed then we would've sat in a little carriage together
and floated all the way to the top. did you know, i
wanted you to look me in the eyes at the top of the ferris wheel
and realise that you wanted me?
did you know, i wanted so badly to be beautiful to you?
i thought of myself as a modest thief. i didn't pretend to have the wits
to steal a heart. just a breath, a glance, a moment
of your time, and your jumper, maybe, the one with your name
on the back. but i forgot
the most important thing: that ours was not a love story.
i'm sorry it took me a while to catch up, i'm sorry i went home that day,
i'm sorry i'm still waiting in line at the metaphorical ferris wheel.
IV. DEPRESSION
i close my eyes and we are putting puzzles together again
and of course we are too different to work out because you
start by collecting edge pieces
whereas i go straight for the big thing in the centre
that i can make out. and you say here: this is a centre piece
and i say here: this is an edge piece,
and it should work out but it doesn’t because you're going from
outside in faster than i'm going from
inside out and you pass me a piece that's red and i think: there’s
nowhere for this to go. and i open my eyes and
we’re not really building puzzles together, it's just me
and the colour red, which is the colour that you see when light
filters through your eyelids when you close them.
red is the colour of desire and destruction but just because these
two things are the same colour doesn’t mean they are the same
thing, just because one causes the other doesn’t mean they are the same thing.
just like when one person loves another and that person loves them.
just because one causes the other doesn’t mean they are the same thing.
V. ACCEPTANCE
some time later, everything has quietened down. i know now
what my own love looks like.
no one, not even you,
has seen it yet.