I don't want you to police my need to keep certain things the way they-
I wish you would let the past remain there and come forward with me-
We both started talking at the same time and then stopped. This is an impasse for sure but not one we can't bury in routine. He smiled kind of shyly and I reached out for him with both hands.
I'm a jerk. I don't mean to seem like he is more important than you because he isn't but that doesn't mean his things aren't incredibly important to me. Can you accept that?
Maybe. I don't mean to seem like I'm trying to rush you through, I just don't want you to hurt anymore, Bridgie, there's been so much. I want you to be happy, don't you see?
So we stand nodding at each other with flooded eyes and hearts that won't start and pain drawn with needles on our arms, words meant to soothe and to ignite. I trace the tattoos on Lochlan's arm and ask him if he'll make some lunch with me but he smiles wider and asks me if I would rather he take me to...
I'm thinking some restaurant will be suggested but no, do I want to go get my cast off? (The hospital called while I was being difficult, apparently.)
Is the sky blue? HELL YES.
Off we go. And after an inexplicably long wait in what seemed to be an empty department I am free (!) to take a completely-submerged-save-for-my-nose piping-hot bubblebath without my arm sticking up out of the water like a limby periscope.
Which I am off to do right now because it hurts like I've been hugging a cinderblock since Christmas and my poor little arm looks like a bendy straw.