January 18, 2003
Law of Love
I should've captured last night when it was close, put it in a jar like a firefly and gazed at it until its luster had passed. The colour of his eyes in the shadow, the sound of his laughter, the measure of his breath. It could've lasted days, at least, but my pen, nor these keys, made then the effort, and now it is too far away, and the only thing just near me is my father's pain.
Marriages seem to end in violence. The tears dry that stream and stick, dry into a steel countenance, and the pleading that once graced lips becomes curses, insults, threats. Must a broken heart become broken legs?
I don't want her to come home, not really. Love my mother I may, but that does not mean she is good for us, or good for my dad. I would like, however, to be able to have a real relationship with both of them without having to hear the hate spring from their mouths, without feeling something like a yo-yo in too angry of a fist.
Do I ever want to get married?
For me, Mike is golden and shining and light and sweetness... but that's what we all think. Girls aren't the only ones.
No one is perfect.
It breaks my heart to think.
astera at 5:51 p.m.