When will I stop waking up crying ? This morning the random thought that broke the dam was I wish I never went out that night I met him. I wish I didn’t know he exists. That guy, so imperfect in the right ways which make him perfect for me. The one I waited for who embodied it all, who checked every box on that list except being free. And wanting me enough for it to supersede the noise in his head. I’d give it all back, the poetry, the songs, the paintings, the ideas, the fire, the philosophy which drives this machine. If I just never met him, I’d still be me. I’d still just want to get fucked on a Friday night & not see or even talk to you again until the next week. I wouldn’t care about the moment you stick it in being right, special, romantic or sweet. I would be fine being alone because before him I wasn’t really lonely. I wouldn’t wake up crying. I would tell this chick to grow up & get real. But it went too far, somewhere along the way I lost myself & now this is all I can feel. I’ve asked myself if it was worth it. The pain vs the productivity. The answer is no. It’s only a comfort. A consolation prize for being a failure in love one more time. If I could just erase him like a bad line. No amount of material is worth this. The not being able to wake up without crying bullshit. Everybody says…snap yourself out of it. But I’m a human being with feelings that don’t work that way. Not made from rubber but more like clay. Once it’s shaped, baked & hardened, the form remains. Until broken into different pieces it cannot be changed. He made me want something I had resigned myself to not being real. He filled my head with the fantasies of every female. Fate. And how could it not be true ? The way we met, the timing of it all, the uncanny similarities. How could it turn out so wrong? Not because of bad chemistry, simply because he couldn’t stop moving. Not long enough to really see me. I close my eyes & can remember the visions I had of us. The imagined future I would fall asleep to at night like a lullaby. And now I wake up crying because it will never be reality. Not even a small part of it. Not rolling around in bed, eyes locked, orgasms timed like two perfectly wound clocks. Painting together for hours & coming up for air. No, I’ll never grab your hand to take you to the shower & you’ll never hold a fistful of my hair. We won’t listen to Sinatra as I make the gravy. Or calm each other’s crazy. You won’t wake me up in the morning with a new painting of us you did the night before. We don’t get the miracle, the dream, the show I’d name Adore. Now none of it will ever happen. Not the coffee in the morning with conversations about Poe & Pollock. Not the midnight hours listening to all genres of Rock. Who was the real king ? The first Punk ? Tell me your ideas on Soul vs Funk. We never dance dirty to Iggy & jump around together to The Ramones. There is no courting. No long talks on the phone. No trips between. No long distance romance. No moment that phrase is uttered. I love you. Now & forever. There is no black diamond ring in the distance…waiting for my finger. No marriage between two people just meant to be together. We’re not making it work, half the year here & half the year there. I don’t ever meet your daughters. I never get to know them. I don’t get the chance to see if you would be the one to give me my own, that maybe…my body was just waiting for your seed. Just like my heart was waiting for you & your words, your eyes & your manic movements of artistry. It never happens. You never hold my hand in delivery. We never give that child an Italian name that means destiny. Your first son or a 6th daughter. That kid doesn’t grow up watching it’s parents paint twisted pictures together. Because that child will never exist. Some perfect combination of you & me, a black haired green eyed prodigy spawned by two lions in a moment of bliss. None of it ever happens. We don’t grow older, I don’t retire in Tennessee. We never sit on a front porch watching the future generations play & paint while drinking homemade lemonade or iced tea. I don’t bury you & you don’t bury me. We don’t hold hands as one of us passes into the darkness forever, whispering, I love you into the next life & beyond babycakes, my darling, my sweet, my deepest love, my luck, my fate, my everything. It never happens. Do you see? Maybe someday, someone will make a movie. About these two artists who wanted to be like Frida & Diego but never had the chance to be. Two people who floated on a wave of serendipity but crashed back down into the sea. Because that’s all it is now. Just a story. A fairytale. Make believe momentarily made real. A Shakespearian affair of an alternate reality. And so I wake up crying every morning. He said it was meant to be & that’s all I ever wanted to believe. But when he had the single chance, the one time, the only opportunity, the moment to make it happen, he couldn’t spend the day with me. He was too busy, things were too crazy, too many voices in his head. Too many things being said. Threats & loved ones feelings. Assumptions of intentions & misplaced integrity. Everything was more important than me. Than what we both knew was real. Meant to be. Fated for the fact that it happened so fast. Supposed to happen because it was signed & sealed. Undelivered & unrealized only because he couldn’t stop moving. Not for a second, to stop & remember the words written over all those wonderful weeks. The all knowing, powerful words which defined who we are, the words which conveyed our beliefs. Why use words the way he did for no reason, nothing gained, no sex or vengeance, no fame or fortune. It makes no sense to me. And so maybe this is what was actually meant to be. For me to wake up crying every morning. Until I break. And change into a whole other shape, a new thing, a completely different human being not just craving to be free of the knowing, that he…the one I dreamed up years before I knew his name, that he is out there, he exists, he lives & breaths in Johnson City, Tennessee.