My decoupaged Frankensteins

It’s quite here this morning. Aside from a few loud voices across the room, I can hear the air traveling through the ceiling. I can hear my thoughts crisp like leaves or a bitten apple. Today really feels like fall – the sky cloudy and spotted, 66 degrees, people on the light rail didn’t smell like sweat and desert, just unclean. We’ll get a day of normal. Then next week it’s back into the 90s.
There are things I need to let go – things and people and I hope to god I can start doing it and that I’m not just saying it here because I feel hurt today and pouty. I have such beautiful views around me. Camelback Mountain in the distance is wiped clean. I have the makings of people who are piecing my new life. This is what I wanted (she says with trepidation). The water is warming up.
I try to mend broken things. Animals, people, cars, furniture. And when I touch them they become a decoupage frankenstein: creatively fucked.
Why is it up to you to fix your relationships? my therapist said.
I don’t understand the question – then who will do it? No one. And if no one does it then distance and time and erosion will completely destroy everything people spend years building together and then who will I be – the out of sight out of mind frienddaughterloversister?
Maybe it’s because new things are so unpredictable. You never know if the person you meet today will stick around. If they’ll understand you. If they’ll look at you and see that despite all your neurosis, you are actually something beautiful. And maybe that’s my problem, maybe that’s why I stick my fingers in so much past, maybe that’s why I pump dying hearts until they’re pulpy – because I just don’t trust that what I’ve spent so much time building will actually support me down the line. I don’t believe it could continue loving me. It’s not the new or the old, clearly, it’s the relationship-webbing itself. It’s the people on the fringes I’m afraid to let go.

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