Roses y Handcuffs

Circle of Ours

There aren’t any sharp turns or corners, only sharp pains. We can’t seem to walk out of this grey shaded circle of ours, nor meet while within. I get close, you turn away. I say ‘I’m in love,’ you say ‘I love you.’ I won’t listen, you won’t chance. I turn away, you get close. This circle of ours.

I fill in our conversations with words from two years ago because lately we’ve been selfish. I tell myself the words you would have told me back when it was just you and I. Not you, I, and her or him. They are the words from before I feared the one fear: one morning you’ll wake up and be sure of how you feel but I won’t be the one laying beside you. They are the words from before I doubted my faith. They are the words from when I savored in solace not fought against spear-headed doubts.

Still, we can’t seem to break out of this circle of ours. Nor do we seem to want to.

Twist and Turn

He’d bring the blankets right above her shoulders then place the fan right in front of her so she wouldn’t awake neither cold nor hot. When he walked away, she’d dream. She dreamed of what they could be, of what he could be. She bent to perfectly fit into the mold of the crutch he’d get away treating her as. Anything but perfect. She dreamed of them talking, what she would say, how he’d respond if she told him her secret. She woke up to the sounds of him showering and realized that he’s still who she wants to better. She’s become another piece of furniture in his room, no better than the fan.

She walked towards the corner of his room where he threw her purse. She reached in for her medicine.

I’m tired, maybe I should take more than one.

One for each palpitation.

Twist and turn.

One for every class she missed to drive two hours to lay beside him, for him to lay inside her. One for the ownership of a car she would have to hide from her mother. One for every medical bill she would have to put aside to pay every cent of the $3,000. One for every cent.

She walked around his apartment barefoot with the bottle in her hands. She walked towards the bathroom.

I’ll flush them all down the toilet. They won’t calm my heart as long as I live inside the four walls of his apartment.

“Your phone is ringing, babe,” he yelled. She quickly paced to the kitchen counter. 

“Mija, did you take your medicine today? How’s your heart?” her mother asked.

“I’ll call you back a’ma. I’m fine just a little tired.”

“Okay, mija, don’t forget about your appointment tomorrow. Have you figured out what’s been causing the pain?”

iNote No. 1

March 12, 2010 - I want to pray to detach, to let go but I’m scared that your face will fade from my heart.