Lost

Purple hues ignite the pale blue sky merely crossing paths with the pillow white clouds. The sunlight paints light tints of pink across the sky unifying the faint sight of the moon. Looking out the window reminding her of the world she once knew; its beauty only brought dismay. Suddenly, it washed over her. She’s lost. Lost in her mind, lost in her thoughts. Her eyes dilated with confusion and distraught.

As she uses her sweater to wipe tears from her cheeks. The tears smear across her face leaving the corners of her eyes reddened from the sting of her coarse sweater. I watch her inhale and gasp for more air as her pain continues; it’s destroying her.

I’m destroying her. 

We have been together for the last 23 years. There have been many turbulences that make me question if we ever truly did recover, or if we can. If when she said “I forgive you” was for my comfort. When she stares at me, does she see me anymore? Or through me? When you look at me, do you replace our happiest memories with the many faces and colors of pain that I have painted for you? Instead of packing your demons that you so kindly try to hide from me, you must show me them. 

Please, show me what they look like. Do they tap your shoulders at night and that’s why you stare at our white popcorn ceiling instead of trying to get a few hours of sleep in before our daughter wakes for her midnight bottle? Are they constantly whispering all of your imperfections until you believe that you are anything other than perfect? Please tell me, I want more than anything to remind you of how beautiful you truly are. Do they remind you of how you look nothing like the women that every so often catch my eye? I promise they mean nothing, I just can’t help but look. How do I convince you that you are perfect the way you are? How you needn’t be anyone other than yourself. Everything that you are is the reason why I love you beyond comprehension. 

Is that it too? Do you not believe how much I love you, because I do. Even the new beauty marks that tattooed themselves to the right side of your stomach. It’s almost as if they are chasing behind each other to eventually form a constellation. The mole under your left ear makes you absolutely breathtaking. How could you ever believe that you are not enough? It’s the same conversation, at the same time, everyday. Like clockwork. She loves me, she loves me not.

I try my best to make her feel my presence. I know she can feel me staring, but she turns her head and ignores my efforts. It kills me.

“Why won’t she look at me anymore?”

I call out to her in hopes that she at least hears me. To see if her ears jolt at the sound of my voice. Or if her eyes open a little wider so that I know that she can feel my existence, but she choses to ignore me. I don’t know why that seems more comforting than feeling invisible. They are equally painful. 

After she took a sip from her apple cinnamon tea, she tried to drink in the oxygen that expelled from the now opened window. She thought that the warm, crisp summer air would maybe help her feel something again. She wanted to feel something good because it had been replaced with so much bad and right now, that’s all she knows. Or so she thinks. I know her better than she knows herself, and that’s what makes watching her so excruciatingly frustrating.

How dare she only blame me for the faults in our relationship. Yes, I have committed countless acts of adultery, put others before her, but she should think about how she allowed me to. She stayed silent and watched my every move instead of expressing her concerns. She never said a word until now. Her tears spoke to me and told me that what I’m doing and have been doing isn’t just “ok” anymore. They told me that she she remained in a state of constant anguish all because of me. Her hot tears felt like the tip of a knife had been dipped in poison meant to pierce through my heart because it was all true. 

Ok, so what? Maybe I knew it wasn’t ok. Maybe I wanted to see how far I could go. Maybe I wanted to test her limits. Call me selfish, but I have desires too. 

If she’d let me speak to her, I’d promise to always put her first. I’d do my best to make sure she feels loved; starting by never comparing her to the other women that walk past me on the street. I’d encourage her to write because she lost touch with that part of herself once I began to neglect her. I wish I realized how I had been starving her because I haven’t been listening. I will be looking for thousands of ways to bring her back to me because we are an iconic duo.

She stood up from her desk and made her way to the bathroom. She stood in the mirror and there we were, face to face. She washed off our tears and tried her best to scrub away the sorrow that had been keeping her hostage. Us hostage. Even though she didn’t acknowledge what I said about her, I know she listened because she finally smiled back at me. There she was, her insides floating like butterflies. She used her palms to rub her tired, strained eyes until she saw specks of iridescent stars clouding her vision. She tilted her head back and a burst of laughter filled the room. God her laugh, it became my new favorite sound.

She shook her head in agreement. She was lost because she needed help finding her way back to the part of her that she thought had crumbled away. It was right in front of her this entire time.

Me.