From the first mention of it, from the first mention that it was going to occur the next day, a sheet of concrete fell in front of me. I began to push, I began to hide my tears in your chest, I began to swallow my feelings and be everything but what I was feeling; an emotionless wall that began to fall apart bit by bit in my heart.
I walked into the house with family but entered a whirlwind alone. The moments, the chats, the laughs, the sandwiches cut into quarters, the dust-buster,
the crayons, the barbies, the hiding behind the nook of the couch, the sleep overs, the days I saw you at your weakest, the days I watched him through the window
on the back porch, the many birthdays, the ice cream cakes, the love, the cookies, the gum, it all quickly spun around me and made the wall
thicker. Here I was at a house I have known my whole life as yours, and here we were about to go through it all and pick what we wanted to carry with us through
the rest of our lives. Materialistic things that we wanted to keep that had sentimental value to us and we could cherish the rest of life. I picked and poked through
things but didn't truly find anything that had much sentimental value. Is it my stubbornness to let go? I don't want some object or piece of furniture that was yours,
I want you and him to still occupy this house, I want you and him to still occupy our lives. I can keep these objects and always know that they were yours, but in
the end, my memories are my most sentimental values.
I kept one of his shirts because he always wore it, I distinctly remember seeing him in it when I close my eyes and envision him, that's the shirt I see him wearing
and I'm making many quilts out of your clothes for me and the rest of the kids. You and I both know anything I take will never mean anything of what I am looking for, because what I am looking for is you. It was not easy
nor will it ever be. I had not been there since we dropped you off after our Vegas adventure, the house was dead. It was merely a building. You made it alive,
you made it warm, you made it the place I loved. Walking in to the empty, dark, cool house made it more apparent that it is no longer a home, but merely a place
that houses your belongings and sentimental things you carried with you throughout your life. The storm did not seize to stop when I walked out, it only intensified
my despair and sadness for the harsh truth that lays in the living room.
I pushed them away, I became the quite, reserved person and I secretly fell apart inside. I cleaned my room, found my fish to be eaten by the fierce cat and fell
the wooden floor. I tried to hide my quivering voice as I told her about the cat eating Fin, but I couldn't anymore. The wall dispersed, my head and shoulders shook
with the pain that fell through my eyes. Helpless, I sat on the floor with my head supported by her shoulder, angry at myself for breaking down but happy that
it had begun.
I guess if we never break down, we can never become stronger.
I was lying in bed last night contemplating the thought of, can we make love, if we are not in love? I guess love has been a reoccurring theme recently, well I
guess love is always a reoccurring theme. She's been informing me of the confusion that has encircled this phrase, maybe confusion is a bad word for it, but the
uncertainty of whether or not he has said it or if she feels it. She defined her uncertainty with often feeling an immense amount of emotion for him, overwhelming
often enough, but then other moments where she is questioning whether it is love or not. Is it too soon?, she questions. Why is love associated with time? Why is
it that when we feel this overwhelming emotion and depth for a person we instantly associate the length of time we have known or been with this person?
Is love determined by how many days we've been sleeping with a person? Shouldn't it be based upon our feelings, our moments, our laughs, our happiness?
Love should not be determined by the days, love should not be questioned because the amount of time you've been with someone does not seem adequate
enough time to love a person, it should be based upon the depth of our feelings.
Although my question was about making love and being in love, I never really got around to answering it. It became a thought by what he had said. It became
a question by what he said, an inspiring person that makes me want to better myself for the sake of me.
