Thursday, November 11, 2010

barf, junkies, echoes

Long crying jag last night. Crying jag now.

Barf and junkies at Fort Hamilton Parkway Station this morning. What am I doing in this ugly hellhole of a city? Oh yeah, I came here because of promises of infinite love and expressive collaboration. “We couldn’t sustain that,” he said. Well, I could have. He couldn’t sustain it for more than a couple of years. Maybe he meant the royal we?

Many echoes:

“It’s only temporary. I was going to tell you when it was over.”

“Does she know you are sweet to me?”
”She knows I love you.”

“She feels bad about her part in this.”

“People do this all the time.”

“I just don’t think it’s going to work.”

“I’m worried what this will do to Nada emotionally.”

and oddly most searing,

“I wish you well.”

I wish you well?


Those stupid dishtowels he brought back from his business trip. Why did he bring me those stupid dishtowels? As some kind of domestic affirmation? She got the tote bag; I got the button. I could have really used that tote bag.

I want my money. He needs to just keep that one promise, since he couldn’t keep any, not any, of the others.

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