We drank too much, we slept too little

well, it was more than that
more than what my boss mentions
when she brings it up haphazardly
says she's glad he won, glad it worked out
glad I picked him, glad of things that I sometimes
wish she wouldn't talk about so loud in the lobby
of our incredibly nosy office.
the thing that I haven't told her is that it's more than that
I mean, it always is.
I've alluded though, I've told her that there's more
and one day, maybe one Saturday drive, or Sunday that I'm
cranking back pinot grigios in her backyard
I'll let her know the whole thing in its entirety
if by then I can figure it out on my own.

some things are best to summarize, others best to forget
and I'm caught somewhere in this storm myself
only because the one that won keeps bringing it up.
"Are you going blind, dear?" and I get no answer
maybe he's also going deaf.

but all those memories are orange
a flash, a bright, a fleeting sound
too many hes to make coherent sense of
a small collection of words.

he the second hit me hard, in all senses of the word
came out of nowhere, captivating me
came out of nowhere, fist planted
squarely in my jaw
and I felt afterward that I
could breathe fire, that I took up too little room
I wanted to be bigger, I wanted to be needed
and in the end, I got only mere fractions
of everything. In the end, I made a mess comparable
to the recent tornadoes, I made a mess of
every single persons emotions, every single person that I ever-
ever-ever met. I thought of no one but myself, and there was that
one night, packing my things, where he the first held me and told me
that I didn't have to go. he loved me in spite
of my selfishness. should a girl feel lucky about this?
or sick?

but I ended that chapter momentarily; at the time
in my mind, I did have to go, I did have to try
On one end of the tunnel, I'd still be wondering what might have been
on this end of the tunnel, I'm wondering how it may have remained
or maybe crumbled-
the days when home felt foreign
when I felt more alive, more comfortable, more loved
in a bar 45 minutes away from my house
a teeny-tiny, hole-in-the-wall, no-cover-ever, walk-through-the-
band-to-get-to-the-bathroom
dive-bar where if the bartenders like you

they'll never charge you and on Saturday nights
when the liquor laws are against you, they'll sometimes send you home
with a six-pack of to-go beers to help you maintain your buzz.

days that I slept too little, nights that I drank too much
things don't ever really get figured out that way
or maybe they do, hell
But I took a deep breath of relief when I found out that my haunts are
still standing, knowing that really
I was just worried about my memories, most that I've now tucked away
flying out all over the place, exposing me, for all the world to see.
And maybe none of this fits together to you, and maybe you don't find it any good,
or to have any merit, but it doesn't have to, it doesn't have to be
and sometimes, that's the hardest concept to grasp.