The Morning After

The morning sun penetrates the sheer curtains
and wakes her up. She stretches, becomes aware
of the tight embrace that’s restricting her movements.
A wide grin parts her lips. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

When she tries to turn and twist to look upon his face
she begins to understand she’s only caught up in the covers.
He didn’t come home. The knowledge darkens the sun’s rays
and causes her room to feel like a prison cell, no longer home.

She sits up with the knowledge that he told me he would change
is just a refrain, something she sings to herself to keep from
going insane from continuously dealing with the same mess.
The meaning of insanity is doing the same things and expecting
things to change. And she fears she’s going insane.

It doesn’t take long for her to get dressed because
like a fireman she’s always prepared for the distress of
loving him.

In the streets, she takes turns she’d never take if it wasn’t for
the fact of loving him. She steps through doorways of abandoned
houses, walks down alleyways, walks up to groups of men
whose darkened eyes and dark intentions frighten her, but she’s
trying to find him. Always in the back of her mind, she’s afraid
that she will find him.

She fears the day she will find him unconscious or dead.
She fears the day she will find him with a needle in his arm.
Is that how he chooses to get high? She doesn’t know because
she’s never bothered to ask. She doesn’t want to know how
he chooses to escape, she just wants him to not feel the need to
escape. She fears finding him with his eyes closed, not knowing
if he’s dead or just so high, he’s unreachable.

It’s fear that keeps her walking the streets. It’s fear that keeps her
believing that she has to keep chasing love when it keeps running from her.
It’s fear that keeps her from believing that the morning after should be
spent this way, chasing an elusive love instead of wrapped up peacefully
in her sheets, in her bedroom. That she should be home, the only place
she truly belongs.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Rosalind-Guy/e/B00BGH5F88/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1432491754&sr=8-1.
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2 Responses to The Morning After

  1. John W. Leys says:

    This is heartbreakingly beautiful. Powerful.

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