This bruise is bigger than I thought it would be.

Posted: September 29, 2012 in hidden admonishment

I guess I should have realized, since I watched my arm bleed
in slow motion
and knew that it wasn’t clotting instantaneously.

The bruise is still bigger than I thought it would be.

Your brother once wrote me a citation even though he wasn’t
a police officer.
He was convinced that I stole your pack of cigarettes.
So were you.

It wasn’t that you smoked.
It wasn’t that I didn’t.

It was that you lied to me.

I thought it was funny that your bother would play cop
with a make believe offense
because I had no need or want or motivation to take your cigarettes.
I thought it was funny that he would write out that citation
as if I’d give a shit
but also much more profoundly indicative of how we grew up:

He’s the one that bought them for you…which
uneventful as it was
actually constituted a real crime.

I kept that slip of paper for years.
Years after we stopped speaking.

Eventually, I threw it away, because I don’t like to think about you anymore.
I never enjoyed thinking about you
even when we were close.

I spent a long time hating myself for caring about you,
and sadly,
I did not take that contested pack of Marlboro Lights
even though you both “saw me” do it.

I think about that whenever I’m handed a real slip of paper
from a real police officer.

I had a bad day.
It happens.
What made it different than most bad days that I have was that I couldn’t regain my composure.

It slipped.
I had it, and then it was gone.

I’m still pretty sick.
I mean…I still think I care.
I still want to care.

I still want to acknowledge invalid sentiments.
I’m still delusional.

When I’m upset, the same shit surfaces.
It’s comforting, and I cling.

Even though I know there’s nothing.
I know there’s nothing.
I know you’re not there.

I know.

It’s just…It’s so unpleasant.
Can’t I just be sick?
Why won’t my mind just enervate?

Why can’t I just be sick?

Why do I prefer to struggle with a reality that never ceases to upset me?
A reality that provides no satiety.

Reciprocity.

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