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excerpt from When The Crash Meets Something Solid issue #010 : Strip It To The Bone




Begin here.  I set my thermostat to 82 degrees, and listen to my daughter breathe at night.


It is an odd thing to miss you.  The stillness that I feel inside myself has a quality that I cannot name.  Now it’s bitter.  Now it’s sweet.  The taste is all iron and cardamom deep inside my mouth.


It’s been a strange year.


All summer long, I drank and drank.  And drank.  Thirsty Thursdays on the Blue Ox patio; other nights, too.  Just going further and further down.  Farther and farther away from my own reflection.


And there was sweat and sex and sometimes pills or pot and I was indestructible all summer long; untouchable.  Unreachable.


Then – you driving; lights in the rearview mirror and I kept saying it in my head:  “this can’t be happening.  We can’t get caught.  We never get caught.”


I’m glad we did.


I came awake slow inches at a time.  One piece here.  One there.


Vulnerability does not agree with me.  It narrows my eyes and furrows my brow; tightens my lips.


Throughout the fall and into winter I learned to let go; to trust; to breathe.


After 3 years – 2 of celibacy, 1 of cheap sex and brief entanglements – love seems like a foreign country in which I am slowly learning how to live; still shocked by the beauty of the pulsing landscape all around me.

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