TITLE: Paint Over Cracks
By David (The Goliath Assassin)
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I've also posted some new stuff in the "songs" section. (Which, for a moment there, I forgot existed.) Feel free to browse that section for my work. A big chunk of it is posted there. I don't subscribe at this time, so while feedback is appreciated, PMs are kinda useless.
It happens every February
That’s when she gave me back my ring.
Three years of dedication
Selling-out my allegiance
Pledging my soul for the rest of this life
Gone. But not gone.
Still we slept… and still we cried.
I should have known. I think I did.
I think I ignored the tears as I rocked her world.
She told me that she was just so thankful that I loved her so well…
But why did I ask in the first place? Especially so out-of-breath?
Hers was an arrow I never wanted to cough up
With barbs as plentiful as the grit on sandpaper
I told myself I was over her… but here I am.
There I was yesterday evening, in the car with my mom, lamenting.
When asked for a reason, I was genuinely perplexed. “I WAS over her. I was...”
“It’s February,” she said. “The mind remembers anniversaries.”
I learned that day of a secret plight
A woman looks over her shoulder in fear of nothing…
In fear of something that happened many Decembers ago
The December she and I were robbed.
Maybe this is subconscious.
Maybe I am over her…
The last time I felt this bad was a year ago today…
It would have been the sixteenth of February.
We are in March now… delayed reaction?
I’ll tell you why it’s delayed…
Because we slept and cried for another six months
Until she found my replacement.
A day I had hoped to prevent altogether
Inevitable though it was…
I will grieve rather heavily on Easter too.
And probably the second week of August
She yanked the final barb right before my birthday.
But in those weeks between, she will be as nothing.
As if it were a whole different life and memory altogether.
Because I am over her, after all…
But the mind remembers anniversaries.
Like the pit in my stomach that starts to form every December
The one I have to fill with Mariah Carey’s Christmas album
If you ever heard it from the age of ten… then you’d surely know why.
All of these anniversaries in the chambers of my subconscious
Are like cracks in the sidewalk of my life
I have loved since, and I will love again.
But every relationship ends so soon
Dies so thin… Dries too fast…
Crackles under the sun like paint over cracks.
Nobody seems as trusting as she and I once were
I wonder if anyone will ever trust me like that again.
“Somebody will… And we tend to glorify the past
When we are lost in remembrances.”
Well if by “the past” you mean the third year we were together, then maybe…
The first two were just as good as I remember, I’m sure of it.
“No seriously, I find myself doing it about my ex husband all the time
Until he pulls one of his controlling manipulative stunts, then I remember the truth!”
Then I probably have been glorifying the third year…
We didn’t split because we loved each other too much.
Thanks, Mom. I only call you that because you help me keep my head straight.
And my head IS straight. Straight enough to realize
That paint does not cover over cracks.
And if I’m going to erase these anniversaries
I’m going to need a relationship thicker than latex.
I have had my share of sex kittens. And really…
Really… I think that’s it. That is the problem.
I think I’ve always been in charge.
Nobody has ever delighted in me enough to make me her man
And I think I’m just finally sick of being the initiator.
The man is wired to chase… but he need not run himself dead.
The woman is wired to respond, but society tears out her wiring…
Turns her into an emotionless tool for work and duty
And that is why I have been running myself dead.
I don’t want that woman. I hate her utter lack of response.
I am valuable. I have been told this by many… who still shrink away.
Job and child and drama with the ex would not be excuses if you were sane.
If you were sane, you would recognize my ability to help you weather it all.
I am not looking for a perfect woman.
What I am looking for is a woman who uses something thicker… than latex.
Crush my old foundations. Love me like a hurricane with quakes below
Watch me build this brand-new road for you.
A labor of love. A testament to your beauty… which will never be seen
As long as I keep stepping on paint over cracks
In this road that I first paved so very long ago.
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