You Beg For The Little Things

You also beg for the little things.

You beg him to eat. You beg him to talk to you when he doesn’t want to because you think it must be a lie. A fallacy. He used to beg to talk to you, when you had no time for him – when you didn’t care about his car, or his money, or his woman, whom he was going to leave for you. Not that he left her until you left that other one. But you didn’t notice that until you started begging.

So clearly he must still want to because…how could he not want to talk to you? You shared things with him that you had never shared with anyone else, and he acted like even those darknesses inside you could not deter him from wanting to be inside of you. You imagined your lovemaking as swirling yin and yang combining to form a cool, slated grey, sheens of a shadow that shadowed you but beauty in a flawed essence. A painting with the wrong hue, an essay with misplaced diction, but still a work of art.

He used to like your flaws.

Or maybe it was a tolerance, an understanding between humans who know that everyone has cracks and you can’t really judge on size because size never really matters. Either you have them, or you have them. Either you deal, or you go.

Isn’t that just the way? When people launch into love hoping that the sunrise of it will be as vivid and as intense as the sunset, instead of a glaring ball of red hot hell fire that crashes and burns like your hopes every time he is leaving and you know where he is going. And it isn’t to come back to you.

This is the big thing you beg for. For him not to leave, even as you cling to his shin, his jeans like it’s a Jesus garment, doing things you’d never do. You said, screaming, promising, sobbing, loudly like ripping gulps of pain, trying to stop him, but not being able to stop him, and he’s packing, and he’s going this time, and he’s taken everything. That means this is for real, that it’s happening, this isn’t the silly girl on a low-budget TV production whose mascara doesn’t run when she fake-cries and continuity doesn’t notice, no, he’s going, and you’re begging your
Blackened heart
To not
Stop
Beating.