war part 1.

I had written this letter. Everything was in place, each paragraph with an introductory sentence and transition into the next like I'd always been taught. It was nothing more than an outline. Something to keep me on track and to keep me focused on the task at hand. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel with such force, but I didn't know how to let go. The yellow dotted lines blurring to become one long stream of color, and then I saw the exit. I turned the radio up. How appropriate--"Jaded" by Aerosmith. I guess you could call it a distraction, but there's no manual for these kinds of things. It was raining. Pouring. I needed new windshield wipers. I drove past the familiar places. Jazzercise. The drive-in. The ball park. The church with the clever signs, "Harry Who? God is the Potter." For some reason I didn't remember the drive being that brief, but I pulled into the driveway with my crumpled letter that was supposed to fix things. I doubt any of them knew what was coming, but the reaction was calm and collected. A few questions were tossed about, and of course they all wanted a motive. I supplied rehearsed answers, and looked at her leaning over the counter. I had prepared myself for this, yet she hadn't uttered a word. A brief moment of silence, so I filled it with, "Mom, do you have any questions? Anything you want to say at all?"

"No, Michelle. You expect me to have all kinds of questions, but I just don't."

"Okay."

"You're an adult. Do what you want."

So, on Wednesday, April 15th 2009, I walked out of the house, started my car, and drove off without looking back.

It's Thursday now. I left for my lunch break at work and didn't come back. I drove out to find something this afternoon, and I'm not sure of anything anymore. Fresh April wind feels magical on my face, and no one is here but the gardener. There are a few extra flowers since I was last here, but nothing else seems to have changed. My back against her cool tombstone; it somehow feels sacrilegious to curse God on holy property. This looming statue of an angel keeps looking at me three spots down, and I wonder why we can't all have wings. I can hear him mowing through the zigzags of old men who never made it through heart attacks, young daughters who had been slammed by irresponsible drivers, husbands and wives somehow hoping to hold hands under mounds of earth. He never noticed me sitting there, but I saw him continue on to water the flowers. The breeze carried his whistling my way, and I silently thanked this kind man for keeping me company that day.

There are always these allusions to God being this almighty "gardener;" getting rid of the weeds in our lives and watering with psalms wi help us grow. But with his waterhose draped over "loving mother, beautiful wife, and fighter all the way to the end," I wonder how it feels to the be the gardener of the dead. Knowing that week after week, your feet tread over the bodies of fathers and sons, whole families even, and without you, those flowers planted with tearful goodbyes would be nothing more than crumbled petals woven through blades of grass.

I never understood religion beyond what I had always been taught. I doubt that I will ever.

But those flowers sure looked nice.

i think i'm going to enlist.

colorblind.

it's terrifying knowing that this has no limits. it's scary knowing my love for you has no boundaries. this intangible thing that can't really be placed into words, but that surpasses all worlds. it can't be held back from idealistic realms such as heaven, or that limbo in-between. it stretches to all corners, and as a sea reclaims its tide, rushing foamy waters over kilometers of sands; my love for you rolls in as an unexpected wave. never ceasing to rest, it encompasses every good feeling i've ever felt. jars of smiles kept in the cupboard, containers of laughter with the lids pressed tight, small boxes of words left unsaid shoved under old literature books. never a deep or tragic wound, moreso this immense feeling of knowing you're the only one left believing.



if love truly were blind, what we had would be yellow. yellow for the mornings we woke up with the sun in our eyes. yellow for sleepy kisses in the middle of the bed, and smiles smuggled into pillowcases. yellow for breakfast in bed while we contemplated the rest of our lives. yellow for the moments i opened my heavy lids to see you staring back at me, really seeing me for who i am. and yellow for the start of every day beginning with you and me. what we had would be green. green for afternoons spent gazing in your direction when you weren't looking. green for drops of rain that landed on our cheeks that afternoon. green for lazy days where we did nothing but sleep in the grass holding hands and finding shapes in the clouds like all young lovers do. green for the times you traced my freckles with your fingers, ending at my lips knowing i was yours. and green for what was new to both of us, but what soon became the oldest and most truest thing i'd ever known. what we had would be red. red for evenings filled with heavy air and soft kisses. red for the flowers on my pillow, and red for the way my heart pounded when you looked at me and smiled. red for the way my knees weakened like the cliche when i heard my name fall from your lips. red for skin on skin and tangled bedsheets. red for the moments my fingers found their way through your hair, and i couldn't help but lean in. red for stifled breaths and words i could never find. red for the stop sign you missed. and red for the moments i just couldn't let you go. what we had would be blue. blue for the nights we both closed our eyes, and your breath become even and warm on my neck. blue for your eyes, so cool and transparent, like the same sky where we had watched the clouds. blue for the way your arm draped across my side and never left. blue for the stars that held my wishes. blue for the way, even now, i reach my hand over to the other side just to feel you there. blue for dreams of wonderment and moments that didn't even make sense. blue for 2am coffee and hot chocolate that kept us up talking about things i've never told anyone. blue for cold lips i saw in the end. and blue for the anchor i have holding me to you...i'll never float too far away. what we had would be gray. the sky was a polluted color the day we all met around that hole in the ground. i couldn't stop staring at it. gray for the sidewalk i laid upon throwing up large amounts of alcohol, trying to forget. gray for the phone call i'll never be able to forget, and gray for your mother's sobs. gray for too many handshakes and hugs from people who shed salty tears. gray for the moments in between. gray because we were never black and white; gray because i loved you. and gray because i refuse to believe you ever really left.

when my parents divorced, i had wondered if anyone ever really survived a heartbreak. sure you can pick up your things and start something new without looking back. but it's this constant ache. not really ever going away, just a slow and dull ache in your chest that reminds you every day of what you no longer have. some are strong enough to ignore it or supress it; like my mother. and others like myself are too young to gain that endurance for what life will throw my way. i am constantly reminded of that gray sky, and how, even now, i can't bring myself to lay flowers by your name. there are always fresh ones there, but we both know none of them are from me. you always said you liked sunflowers, but i'm sure it was only because they were my favorite. and i haven't been able to....
i should bring you flowers. i loved you, and i want you to have sunflowers.

i've loved someone with everything i've ever had, and now i don't know how to stop. it's rather terrifying knowing there are no limits, and sometimes you can't grab the wheel fast enough before you're lying in the ditch. cracked windshield, busted glass, and you need stitches that will leave scars.

i loved you, and i'll bring you sunflowers tomorrow.

empty.

this is what everyone sees. people tell me i'm sad, and i was never able to figure out why.

i don't even know who i am anymore. this face stares back at me and i wonder how it got to be like this.

i wasn't always like this.

you've been gone almost 2 years now. my eyes are still vacant, and my smile is stale.

with pearl jam on repeat, i'm singing "he's gone to heaven so i've got to be good, so i can see my baby when i leave this world."

i'm getting better. i can see tomorrow.