You've been scarce for the last two weeks. I thought you needed space to help you think things through. So I didn’t bother you, and just waited for your IMs, whenever you feel like dropping me a line or two, at your most convenient time, when and how you want it.
But we don't talk anymore, like we used to, sometimes I feel you're staying away from me and avoiding me. I don’t know what’s going on anymore.
We used to talk about practically everything openly, and suddenly its changed.
Last night, Sophie and I got a message in FB, that put me in a very very bad light in my daughter's eyes. I tried to tell you about this in FB. You didnt reply. I sent you a message in YM about it too. You didn't reply.
I got two hate mails, too. And dirty IMs. But they’re all about me. For me. I’m 41 and I got myself into this. My daughter’s only 14, this was not her choice. The least that I can do is to be gentle and careful with my words when the time comes that I have to I explain to her about us and our situation.
This left me deeply hurt especially with my daughter’s confusion over that message that strains our relationship now.
Hoping that you care enough to make me feel a little better. And at least assure me that its not what it looks. I dunno where and how to reach you. Im left alone.
I always pray for us. This time for better judgment. And that we be there for each other when need the most. That’s what friends and lovers for.
I will always love you, honey. Be well.
I like to remember things my own way. how i remembered them, not necessarily the way they happened. I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. My DeLicioUs ambiguity.
... my other garden ;)
About Me
- Irma
- I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
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