he’s finally sleeping now. it was one of those terrible nights that i guess both of us can expect to happen while his leg heals. i was picking him up off the floor to go on the couch; i had set him down and was going to lift his leg, but i tripped over it, and caused him to scream and cry in pain. i think this set his healing back to day one; i don’t know.
he was up all night crying out. even when he was sleeping, he was crying. i gave him medicine and it didn’t help. there’s nothing i can do.
it’s our anniversary today.
this whole year, i wanted nothing more than for us to be together by this point. i begged you to promise it. you took those words back in May, and now we aren’t even in the same heart, let alone the same place. you screamed you don’t love me anymore. and okay. i wish i knew what to do with all my love since it has nowhere to go. romantic homelessness and trash files.
i write to you here like it matters.
these fragments of thoughts and tiny spaces between my caring for him and my grading papers when i can write. i don’t know. if one more person tells me that all this is making me “stronger,” i might have to find a new clever way to tell them off. because stronger? what is that? i’ve seen every horror a person in america can see. i’ve lived every nightmare our country of privilege offers. what is there to be stronger from now? i’m not even strong enough to carry my son to the couch. and i do it anyway because
the people in Gaza are shivering in front of makeshift fires. the children in Syria are walking with sandals in the snow. god forbid i mention the survivors of the wedding massacre in Yemen. are they strong enough? for fucking what.
we’re strong enough not to commit suicide in the face of abject poverty, infirmary, or a hopelessness most of you reading this will never have to know. am i writing to my [ex]lover or a stranger? a friend? that’s funny. not one of my friends from “real life” has sent a text or a phone call. not a one. my best friend, who i met in twitter, is it. several of my activist friends from there check on me daily. i’d have given hope up too if it weren’t for them–people i barely know.
i lay in my bed thinking about Aaron. he did the unthinkable and left this horrible world before he imposed any more upon it. i realized that his action was one of bravery and courage. a ritual suicide, seppuku. he wasn’t going to take part in making this place any more than it already is.
so my son cried out that he wanted to die last night. he told me he doesn’t have a reason to live anymore. i held him. i kissed his too-warm forehead. i said nothing but “i love you.” because, for fucking sake, that’s all we really can say and do anymore.
though there’s so little of it left.