Is there an easy way? Great. I'll be over here under the sign labeled "danger". You requested honesty and here, have it for fucking breakfast and then leave me alone.
I will love him, thoroughly and unapologetically. I will throw down my guard and my trust and he will gobble them up and spit the bones back out and smile in the half-assed, charming way that he smiles and splits the crack in my heart open just a little wider, in order to wedge himself in deep. Go ahead. Deeper. Please.
It hurts, you know. It burns and it aches and at the same time it feels good in the most twisted way.
Just like in order to weigh down my fingers, I wear so many rings. Rings that are borrowed and bought and given freely and with conditions. Rings with skulls and roses and words and scratches too. Rings that when you squeeze my hand too hard I may squeal because it hurts and my knuckles are bruised in between.
Will I take them off?
Not on your life.
This one from him, is all skulls and darkness. It's my tie to him while he's gone. Another spins around and around, wearing a bell sound into my skull. He has a matching one, and he left that for me too, for twice the comfort but his is so big I wear it below mine, so mine will hold it on. Others include my wedding ring, and more rings that mean different things. They serve to provide a nice heft to keep my fingers remembered in their tasks of spelling properly and using punctuation and then I sound less crazy because I have dotted the i and used a comma where a comma should be and I'm rather presentable because I'm beautifully accessorized even if it is in an over-the-top rockstar boyfriend format. It's okay, I won't apologize if you don't ask to see them up close. There are so many now that I keep a little blue pottery bowl by the sink to hold them when I wash dishes, wash my hands, wash an apple. Wash away the hurt part.
In the event that it is needed, I could simply use them as tools, wedging them far into that crack in my heart to hold his place. I've done it before, I'll do it again. In the event that it is needed I will melt them down and fashion a silver bullet and save us all.
But I will not apologize for loving him. And I'll be really proud of him for getting through detox and then moving to a slightly closer program, one that has a family weekend once a month.
He always wanted a family.
Now he has one.
And we'll be there in April to spend that weekend with him, which I think falls on our very first wedding anniversary. I can't remember right this second. Emotion overload, okay? I don't mind talking about things that are over. It's things that are ongoing that are so difficult in a watchful public eye where people pass judgement without fully understanding the gravity involved. I worry. I'm afraid. What if I self-destruct while he's gone? What if I forget him? What if he comes out different? What if he comes out the same? What if I miss him too much, hell, what if I miss him too little? What if neither one of us can get through what is going to be a very long and painful separation?
My head is unpredictable, and therein lies the reason behind holding that place with as much silver as I can find, a representation of something good and pure, like the very incredibly overwhelming love I have for someone I'm not sure that I don't hate right now.
That stupid half-charming, half-fratboy Tucker smile will fix everything, and I can't wait to see it again.
