—OLD DAYS, GOOD TIMES I REMEMBER

 

 

OUTLINE OF MY LOVER    /    Douglas A. Martin

 

 

He becomes my lesson in want, is my want, my only.

 

Desire is all I have. It’s all I can hold onto.

 

My love makes me stubborn.

 

I recognize my hatred was masked love, the lack of his presence.

 

There has to be some way to cover up this left hole.

 

He’s everywhere. My life becomes this pattern controlled by him. His face is everywhere, and his name. Written, spoken, print.

 

He wonders why I can’t get on with my life.

 

He talks about emotions as someone else’s. Don’t confuse the singer with his songs.

 

I no longer believe anything.

 

I just have to keep my wits and looks about me. Charm, my heart.

 

He is being stupid with me.

 

He brings up history. Says we have a lot of it together.

 

He says he’s happy to hear my sister is having a baby. He’s become just another man who can’t understand.

 

His body is a piece of paper.

 

I have nothing more to pull from my eyes.

 

You have to trust completely, or it doesn’t work.

 

What did we used to mean to each other? I forget.

 

 

In my family, every holiday becomes a reminder of how abnormal we are.

 

In that house, constantly trying to second guess the correct thing to say in order to keep semblance of unity.

 

We aren’t what we’re supposed to be.

 

We’re taken to a place with no roots.

 

When we weren’t in the house, there would be a possibility for magic, something new. We would sit quietly in the back seat, looking at the lights. Lights like stars, but closer.

 

My sister and I watch her cry, knowing how you could just want somebody to go away.

 

I should at least be entitled to my own feelings, since they’re all I have.

 

I want something that is mine to care for.

 

There is always some part of life that will remain empty.

 

I always wanted to be known, for someone to know I exist.

 

I forgot how to breathe.

 

You either continue together, or you don’t.