We’re sitting in the glow of neon, the golden arches casting pale yellow and red on the asphalt where we’re parked.
I’m sipping iced tea even thought it’s cold and we’re clutched by winters deep spell, flurries scattering around outside haphazardly lacking the stamina to collect themselves on the ground. The windshield wiper swipes at them randomly streaking the window with frost.
I’ve pulled my hat down low over my unwashed hair and my arms wrap across me as if my embrace could somehow hold all my broken parts together.
The world is quiet and dark and we sink past midnight as the hours tick by. It’s 3:00 a.m. when she drops me off and I fiddle for my keys. My home has long since gone to bed but someone’s left the light on for me. They knew I would be back late. This isn’t the first time she’s come and got me.
I heard her knock, not long after I got her text. I still wasn’t ready. I stood in my pajamas with the front door cracked open, the evening light filtering into my hallway, my body wilting in the cold air as I let her in and she waited for me to pull on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, grab a hat and scoop my greasy limp hair up under it.
I glimpse myself in the mirror and my skin is creased and blotchy from too many days of tears and a head so full of sorrow, it drags down defeated. Makeup is pointless.
When we first met I wore red lipstick and wore outfits. I made jokes she laughed at… Continue reading at Grace Table