You always said I talked too much.

And while I certainly
don't think most people of at least
a reasonable degree of competency would
be inclined to disagree, it just seems
to me that you were thinking
about it all wrong.

Perhaps the real
problem was not my tendency to
speak loudly and with great frequency
but rather it was the inferiority
of your listening abilities,
or lack thereof.

You see, I wouldn't
need to constantly dwell and
reiterate and repeat if you would have
been able to conceive  even momentarily
that there was reasoning tucked between
the seams of my stories that I kept
waiting for you to find.

I wanted to give you
chances repeatedly to display some
needed empathy and to meet even my
most basic needs or, **** it, just common
decency but all requests were met
selfishly and I think its time
to leave it behind.

I am ready to breathe
regularly and sleep without the haunting
dreams and stick to it this time without relapsing.
I am ready to finally start resisting picking up the phone
when you inevitably decide you are feeling a little too lonely
and know that you can always count on me to be too
desperate and too weak to waste an opportunity
to speak because you always said
I talked too much.

I hope I am finally running out of things to say.

Sunshine,
(******* SUNSHINE?!)
for the first time in what seems like decades.
Delirious with gratitude and almost disbelief,
I burst through the door
(no need for this wool winter cocoon any more)
ready to take full advantage of afternoon.
Twirling my fingers in the delicious beams,
the unfamiliar warmth coaxes up my sleeves
as the newly less-cruel breeze
teases the loose strings that escaped
from behind my ears.
I almost want to shake Spring's hand
and commend it on it's triumphant return.
(The sneaky ******* had us all worried)
Stubborn, elusive season,
a part of me hates to admit
that you were worth the wait.