More to life

The temperature dropped forty degrees overnight.
The wind is tenacious and such gossamer snowflakes don't stand a chance. Whipped back and forth in a haphazard track to the concrete, I sympathize.

This life is not mapped out. Evanescent forces stretch me in all directions.
If I can just get through the next 18 months...

Focus.

"It is the very pursuit of happiness that thwarts happiness." - Viktor Frankl

Do you know the difference between a happy life and a meaningful one?
Know this: There is value in suffering.

Piece of Cake

He asked me to come anyway. Forget about things for a day and just have fun.

Logical.

I think he is the only thing that can lift my mood.

Hair loosely pulled back and eyes lined black, I'm all casual and smiles. There's an overnight bag hidden in the car.

Rum and coke on a steady drip since early afternoon. A late night game of Texas Hold Em.

Immediately behind the closed door, he pulls me close. I let him. His mouth finds me with an unfamiliar urgency, fingers sliding down to tug at my belt.

This is too easy.

The rational thing

"When you're dreaming with a broken heart,

the waking up is the hardest part.

You roll outta bed, and down on your knees,

and for a moment, you can hardly breathe."

-John Mayer

It was something we both knew all along.
But over two days, the facts and expectations and inherent uncertainties of staying together slowly rose to the surface of the space between us and congealed into reality. 

We must be practical. 

I love him. 
And he loves me. 
I trust him. 


So there are endless roads to heartache, it seems. 
My head is pounding. 

Out of sync

Though I've never seen him wear it himself, I'm quite certain it should be retired from his wardrobe. It might be better suited to cinch dad jeans for a trip to the grocery store.

"I never said you could have it," he laughs.

I peer back at him, corrected.
For an instant I am hurt. I consider handing it back to him.

Instead, he watches while I continue to thread the worn leather around the waist of my cargo skinnies. Its silver plated buckle is tarnished and some of the stitching is frayed. There are palpable grooves just past the most frequently used notches. Of a recent and awkward vintage and with no monetary value, I think it suits me.

I smile and shake my head at him. He leans down to kiss me.

Resting on my hips, the belt is unexpected. Curious. Not trendy, but interesting. Unlike those marketed alongside brand new "boyfriend jeans" and boxy, oversize sweaters. But I wonder if the comfort in this belt, my boyfriend's belt, is now gone.

Later, as I get ready for bed, I carefully spiral it around my hand and slip it into his overnight bag while he brushes his teeth.

After all,
it doesn't belong


to me.

From red to green

"Red crayons - the fat kind that little kids can hold," he explained.
Stop lights.
Cooked lobsters.
Beating hearts.

"I'm green now, so there's no reason to behave that way ever again. I just need some more colors to fill the palette."

I steered from his cerebral chromatism towards more tangible things.
"Have you found your social security card?"

"You know I can't enter any federal buildings. The frequency is just too high."

"But you can mail in the application for a replacement, right?"

"When I get close, you can literally see the smoke coming out of my ears."

I chatted with him for another twenty minutes or so, trying to keep a positive tone. It's like entertaining two separate conversations - my half anchored in reality and his half abuzz with sights, sounds and reactions that no one else can sense.

Through the delusions and scattered rambling, I know he's still in there.
He is my big brother.