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body div#devskin0 hr { }

That's what we need here.
There is so much tied up in all this that I have to consciously work to separate
one part from the other.
And I'm going to write it like this
and pretend it's art
so that I can justify thinking about it again
and maybe hope for some kind of catharsis.

It's been a while,
and most of that time was spent trying to forget...everything,
so you'll have to forgive me if my memories are a little fuzzy.
(Maybe he took them with him
when he left
and lost them
on his way back.)

I wonder what happened to the kitten.
Do you remember?
I can't think of where she went.
I remember the spider at the lake
and a box full of black feathers.
(I would give you his perspective on all this,
try to distance myself more,
and I know it would be more significant--
but that's no longer within my power,
so my own thoughts are all I have.)
And the cup!
and
a heart tied up in knots
and
a robe printed with skulls
there was a cookie, I think, in the shape of a heart?
Broken on arrival?
I can't decide whether that's funny.
Material things, physical, touchable, because nothing else was
because of distance and
other barriers.

I definitely remember the violence,
frustration,
fights that would start with words
and end with his body painted red...
because that was what he wanted...
or needed, maybe.

I can remember feelings that he couldn't express until he was alone,
things he couldn't find the words for while they were together,
good things
or not.
There were songs. Three of them come to mind in particular.
I can no longer listen to any of them.
Please believe me when I say I've gotten better, too.
It's just reminiscence like this that makes me sound so dramatic.
This isn't meant to be an exercise in self-pity.
Again, I know my responses aren't worth much, because
it really had very little to do with me, but
a lot of what I remember is his and not mine.
Or at least partially his.

Promises, promises,
I remember those, too.
And breaking
everything
I remember that.
There was a picture, that day.
All I saw was a mess of red,
and my stomach turned,
and I had to make one last concession,
not for any other reason
than because they deserved at least that much....
One of those songs again. And then nothing.
Oh, I wish it would've been nothing.
But no more that I can look at objectively...
without straying toward somewhere "hazardous."

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

That's what we need here.
There is so much tied up in all this that I have to consciously work to separate
one part from the other.
And I'm going to write it like this
and pretend it's art
so that I can justify thinking about it again
and maybe hope for some kind of catharsis.

It's been a while,
and most of that time was spent trying to forget...everything,
so you'll have to forgive me if my memories are a little fuzzy.
(Maybe he took them with him
when he left
and lost them
on his way back.)

I wonder what happened to the kitten.
Do you remember?
I can't think of where she went.
I remember the spider at the lake
and a box full of black feathers.
(I would give you his perspective on all this,
try to distance myself more,
and I know it would be more significant--
but that's no longer within my power,
so my own thoughts are all I have.)
And the cup!
and
a heart tied up in knots
and
a robe printed with skulls
there was a cookie, I think, in the shape of a heart?
Broken on arrival?
I can't decide whether that's funny.
Material things, physical, touchable, because nothing else was
because of distance and
other barriers.

I definitely remember the violence,
frustration,
fights that would start with words
and end with his body painted red...
because that was what he wanted...
or needed, maybe.

I can remember feelings that he couldn't express until he was alone,
things he couldn't find the words for while they were together,
good things
or not.
There were songs. Three of them come to mind in particular.
I can no longer listen to any of them.
Please believe me when I say I've gotten better, too.
It's just reminiscence like this that makes me sound so dramatic.
This isn't meant to be an exercise in self-pity.
Again, I know my responses aren't worth much, because
it really had very little to do with me, but
a lot of what I remember is his and not mine.
Or at least partially his.

Promises, promises,
I remember those, too.
And breaking
everything
I remember that.
There was a picture, that day.
All I saw was a mess of red,
and my stomach turned,
and I had to make one last concession,
not for any other reason
than because they deserved at least that much....
One of those songs again. And then nothing.
Oh, I wish it would've been nothing.
But no more that I can look at objectively...
without straying toward somewhere "hazardous."