I stand at the precipice, funny I told myself I would never use that phrase, such a cliché don’t you think, I STAND AT THE PRECIPICE.
Yet I never really understood it till now, so here I am standing at the precipice, perhaps I am being mellow dramatic who knows.
I find myself betwixt and between, surrounded by lies and deceit; ahead, an empty gulf devoid of pity and understanding, behind loneliness and despair, to the right and left missed opportunities and casually discarded moments.
I wallow now in a stench oozing from my pours un-willing or un-motivated enough to wash it out.
There was a time when I was immaculate I took pride in my cleanliness my home was always ready for guests, fridge was stocked, cupboards never bare, dishes washed, bed made and ready for my next conquest, soft music a button away, wine chilled to perfection.
I can’t put a finger on the exact moment when things changed, I mean there is no second or incident I can point to and say “aha” that’s when it all began. Just suddenly today I noticed the dishes were stacked in the sink, trash was piling up around the trash can, and my clothes were strewn around my unmade bed, my 5 o-clock shadow now at midnight, and a foul odor emanating from my body.
I spend my long alone times listening to sad broken hearted songs, watching mothers and fathers pushing strollers passed my window coo-cooing their baby as I sit in a dark interior, my ford sits in the driveway wondering when I will once again board it, tune in those happy melodies and cruise it to a friends house.
I find myself wondering about those Saturday afternoon barbecues, is a father throwing his son a ball? Is mom laughing at the antics of daughter or is she giving sage advice on the arts of love? Are grandpa and grandma watching it all lovingly from a short distance?
Now a day I dread the phones ring I check the caller ID so as not to answer, who knows it may be a friend calling, I both loath and pray for the piteous sound in their voice as they ask me to attend some function they have planned both dreading and hoping someone or something will pull me away from this funk I find myself in.
I miss, I miss, whom, what? I don’t know there’s something; I know I am incomplete not whole, empty, hollow, not fulfilled. I am a single bookend trying to hold up collapsing titles, a gold fish swimming in an empty bowl, a bird without a song, a mute cricket, a frog with no hop, a rose of thorns petals blown away in a dry wind.
Sigh what am I to do? I guess I could start by taking a shower, then I’ll do those dishes after all tomorrows forecast calls for sunshine and perhaps, just perhaps
Sunday barbecues are as happy as Saturdays.
I love you whoever you are. I look forward to our meeting for at that moment I will become we and our lives will begin then.
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