Sometimes in the moment you don’t know what you need. Sometimes it takes an entire conversation to figure it out. It’s going to take courage to talk it out. So not only is it important to find someone able to deliver, that someone should also be willing to sit through the conversation.
Either you’ll figure out what you need and get it which in turn helps you learn to give it
“Or [you’ll] realize the person you’re asking doesn’t have the capacity to deliver. Both are gifts.”
Good night WordPress world. Sleep well. (Unless you have to write, then you should be writing😉)
Empty sex, soulless endeavors and failed attempts at trying to find ourselves somewhere buried beneath all the shit we were drowning in. He called me a bitch in front of the kid and I didn’t like that so I reached out and socked him right in the chin. “I don’t need this. Why am I even here?” Only I knew why I was there. He had this freedom my tiny inexperienced little fingers just wanted to grasp and never let go of. Only thing is his freedom came with a price he wasn’t willing to share. The previous day we were all cuddled up watching Nemo. Snacks mingled with kisses. Things were quiet and I told him why I liked him and he told me why he liked me. It’s for reasons I can’t recall because there’s something about toxic relationships that make the good times fade much quicker than the worst. You gotta dig a little deeper to find the nice girl hidden behind the slutty bitch. There was this one time we made dinner together, daughter in high chair, music on, and bare feet tapped against the black and white tiles. We danced and sang terrible lyrics and smiled in fear that tomorrow was nipping at our heels. And it nipped. I tell him he’s useless, he tells me I’m a whore. We go back and forth till the socking happened. Shitty, I know. That may have been one of those nights I lost a handful of pearls on the floor of some other guys bedroom. We just wanted the release, you know. I’m not sure either of us ever got it.
curled up on the floor, surrounded by toys, crawling under your daughters blanket just to try and be close to the things you love the most, and it’s still only you, alone, smothering beneath the coloured comforter, neck at a harsh angle, face burning against the coarse carpet, willing and wishing for something, anything to come fill you up, but you’re still empty, like the crib, like your cupped upturned hand, like the passing days with no child or partner to hold on to, to help you hold on. vision is rope. and the further you try to make it extend the more frayed it becomes. 20/20 summed up when all is said and done is 40. that’s only a few more years from now and the rope seems pretty thin and faulty on certain days. days frequently named “too often”. “all the time” in the parlance of childish over-exaggerated speaking. if there are even words. not just mumbles. whispers. thoughts which never quite reach the mouth to find their way out and you no longer comprehend the difference or the fact that these things only are spoken in your head, and you wonder why no one hears you anymore. did they ever? if a person falls for longer then a short rest, do they make a sound anyone can hear over the raucous din of their own lives?
will we even notice the passing of one another as we travel on our journey? or do we not recognize the ones who’ve lost direction until it’s too late?
loneliness burrows deep, undermines the roots of trees, the foundations of structures, the will of even the strongest souls.
so much of life is the slow dirt crumble waiting for the cave in.
Michael Morlock, a father, artist, and time traveler from New England. You can find him @themancalledmorlock