I Could Write Books

I could write books
'bout all the things you don't know about me,
page after page of all the things you didn't say.

I could write books
'bout all the things you didn't do,
And then write twice as much
about how much I still love you.

I drop hints about my birthday,
you forget it anyway.
I say pick me up at seven,
and you do, but the wrong day.
Is there something I should know about
that's going on inside?

What is wrong with me that there's
so much of you you hide?

I could write books
'bout all the ways you hurt me,
All the ways you didn't even know could destroy a person so.

I could write books
'bout all the things you took from me,
And then write twice as much
About how much you give back.
I could fill all the desert sands
With ancient scriptures from my hands,
Watch siroccos come erase them
And then write them all again.
I just can't understand why I do
all these things that don't make sense;
but love it seems has a logic
that defies all evidence.

I could write books
'bout all the things I don't know about you,
volumes one and two of all the doubt you've put me through.
And maybe I'll never know
why you do the things you do,
but I do know...I'll always love you.

'Cuz deep inside, I think you love me, too.

I cried.

I tried not to, but I did.

“I love, I love you night and day as a star in the distant sky. And I mourn for this one thing alone, that to love, our lifetime was so short, so short.”

 

And its all my fault that it was so short…

Woah.

There are things in your life that only happen once.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Holy cow.

Blanket.

I’m trying really hard to repurpose this blanket.  This blanket that I spent over 110 hours making.  This blanket that I thought would only take eh, six, maybe seven skeins of yarn. I lost count after 20, and the 5th trip to Michaels.    During the knitting process.

This blanket has been to Iraq.  This blanket has been shipped more farther than many people have traveled. This blanket is so much more than just a blanket to me. Its a promise, its protection, its comfort, and it used to be home.

I spent hours everywhere I was for over 6 weeks making this blanket. In class, at parties, family gatherings, sitting at home on the couch. Each square you see was knitted separately, then sewn together. With each stitch I whispered silent prayers of protection and love into its fibers.

I have never before put so much love, devotion, or dedication into anything I’ve made for someone.

Even now sitting under it, I can feel the energy I used to make it, and the pieces of my soul that are forever intertwined within.

The blanket today, a little used, but oh so loved.

Part of me wants to burn it.  To be done with it. Watch all of that emotion go up in smoke figuratively since it literally already has. But I can’t. I love this blanket so much.  I love what it stood for. I love what it protected. I took it back because it was no longer being used for what I had intended.

It makes me sick to know that he was lying under it with someone else. That is why I took it, but what to do with it now?

I lay under it, and its glorious, heavy and soft, but all I can feel is the loss, the hurt, and the pain. I’m desperately trying to make it mine again.  Take all of that negative energy away, and replace it with mine.

How long will this take?  I don’t know much longer I can keep sleeping under it.  How to make it mine? I don’t know what else to do?

Ugh. Understatement of the century.