All the windows are open,
and the lights are off.
The only sounds are
the crickets and
a box fan.
It’s an unusually cool
night for the first of
August but no one is
complaining.
July was a heatwave.

I love when he naps
in my lap.
His arms folded across
his chest,
long legs almost hanging
off the side of the couch.
There is a painting of
him sleeping that hangs on
the wall of his bedroom,
and it is very accurate.
He’s so sweet,
and sleepy when he
smiles at me and mumbles
“You’re so pretty”
before falling back into
a quiet snore.
I’m more or less trapped here
but that’s okay.
I’ve got my **** and redbull
and him.

I should have
put in the work
instead of looking
for an easy out.
I don’t want any more
chemicals in my brain
or my body.
I want to know that what
I’m feeling is real,
and it’s me.
I genuinely can’t say that
I’m happier now,
in fact I was sent into
a manic episode which
hasn’t occurred in years.
I want to sleep,
eat, drink and be merry.

I lay in bed on my side
frozen in place.
Eyes wide open,
no blinking.
Quick shallow quiet
breaths,
hoping that if I’m small
enough and I don’t move
I will be safe.

I wake up at 5:20
after snoozing the alarm
and the lamp clicks on.
I grab a Redbull from the fridge
and get dressed.
Do my hair,
brush my teeth,
feed the cat.
I get to work early enough
to sit in my car for abit
and then clock in.
I build all of my units
and then go home in the
sweltering heat.
Take a shower,
check on Cat.
Make dinner and watch
my favorite podcast.
Then for dessert I take
3 of my anxiety/sleep meds
and wait for them to
do their job,
so I don’t feel this heart break
and instead go to sleep.

Joan Baez’s music is
the only thing that’s
been making me feel better.
I think it’s because
she isn’t connected to
anyone or any time
in my life.
Until now.
So every song feels
like a new beginning.
And yet
it feels familiar
like a hot summer evening
in June,
when it seems like
the sun will never set.

I went out to my car
and pulled out of the
driveway,
my heart beating fast,
usual sick feeling in my stomach.
I needed to see him.
I imagined me pulling up
and knocking on the door.
He opens it and without a
word picks me up
in a hug.
We both say we’re so sorry
and this was so stupid
and we make love on the sofa
and we can’t stop kissing goodbye
when he leaves for work.

But I turned around.

Because that isn’t how it would go.
He doesn’t forgive me.
He doesn’t want to.
So I turned around.