and dads and i talked yesterday. he kinda breaks my heart. (head injuries have a way with people. they do). he still can't find all those places in words. he might say: you know, that state we lived in once (referring to massachusetts). or: you know, he was president awhile back (meaning clinton). it's like somewhere ya gotta fill in the pieces and hope that it fits.
he told me yesterday: we are not killers.
no we aren't. are we.
he grew up in the projects of plainfield. said he learned to fight with bats and chains. but he never really wanted to hurt anybody.
told me: we would do what we needed to do in self-defense.
yes. yes we would.
but we aren't killers.
he said when he dragged my boyfriend out of the house how surprised he was. said he had a hold on him like nobody's business and how he wanted to hurt him. but didn't.
i told him when i found myself holding a knife over his heart while he was sleeping he wasn't worth going to prison over.
no dad. we are not killers.
i wonder sometimes, why we come back to that place of pain. it was so long ago and we are no longer broken.
in that way at least.