the only way out is through

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I hate how being awake makes me exhausted.

I love happy coincidences that can't possibly be coincidences.  

I fell asleep to that picture of us again.  That picture that I always look at, you know the one.  That picture of us that proves to be some sort of miracle in itself.  That picture that I snapped of us as we were laying down in bed after we hadn't seen each other in a month and weren't sure if we would ever see each other again.  We got a hotel room and fell asleep in each other's arms after an evening of especially intimate intimacies and I cannot possibly elaborate any further before I break down in tears.  You do that to me a lot.  

I should really stop staring at that photo, but I can't.  I want to frame it or burn it or stuff it in a bottle and throw it out to sea.  Hell, I want to stuff myself in that same bottle and throw myself out to sea.  I want to be the ship in the bottle.  I feel like a ship in a bottle.  I want to float around in the ocean with only the memories of that night to reminisce on and play around in my head until I wither away to nothing, a ship in a bottle girl.

I was happy when I rolled over in my sleep and saw that the phone was dialing you at two in the morning.  I was even happier when you called me back three minutes later.  I was happiest when I was talking to you, but really all I wanted to do was tell you not to speak at all, just breathe and lay here with me.  I wanted sleep to come and wash over me in waves, your breath could be my lifeboat and I could float along forever with your wind.  I really wanted to say that.  But I didn't.  I refrained from doing so. 

I went to sleep without you instead.

Sometimes I get really angry when I think about everything that went wrong.  And I think about it more than I should.  I think about it more than I care to admit.  I don't believe that my resistance is helping either one of us.  I hang on to every word of yours, every gesture, every fragment of memory until it is calloused and bruised and bleeding.  I should really let it go.  But I don't.  Not yet.  If I let you go, its almost as if you never happened to me.  

So I think about everything that we had planned.  And after doing so, I immediately think about having all my memories of you professionally erased a la eternal sunshine.  I wish that such a procedure existed because I would probably look into it.  I would call the number.  I would make inquiries.  I would probably schedule the appointment, write it down in my planner.  I would in all seriousness plan to attend the appointment to get my brain wiped and then not show up.  I would be a no-show for selective memory erasure. 

I don't think I could go through with it considering some of my happiest memories were with you. 

I would think about all the times that we went out to ice cream for breakfast at that sweet shop by your house.  All the impromptu trips to bookstores just so we could stand around and look at each other.  Our knack for making people uncomfortable around us whenever we were out in public together.  Or all the times you held me even when I told you to leave me alone.  And all the ways you kissed me, and all the ways you loved me, and how I never in my life felt closer to another human being.  I would dwell upon those thoughts.  Thoughts of you are still enough to sustain me with happiness, but that doesn't remove the bittersweet sadness from my heart.  I pray for a quick escape.  

And how it resonates with me that the only way out is through.

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