As you may have guessed from here and here and other things I've written, anyone
who reads this (pretty much NO ONE) knows that we were cheaters, me betraying
M, you betraying G. You had more reason to leave him—M may have abused me
emotionally but at least she never knocked me to the floor, left me to explain
to co-workers that I'd been clumsy. Yet, when the rubber hit the road and M
hacked our emails (idiocy on my part, my PW easy AF), she let G know what we
were up to and all hell broke loose.
You stayed, I left.
That hurt. Not that I had a choice in the matter, M kicked me and my kids to the curb, done with my bullshit. You stayed with the dude who beat the shit out of you (as he did when he learned about our affair) but I got why you let him batter you.
You were afraid he'd take your son. I had no such fears with M. She hated my kids. They weren't the sociopaths she raised, gentle and not looking for veins to tear out with their teeth.
You did your best save us, putting us up in an un-flagged Holiday Inn then a condo you and G owned together, your heart as big as a semi-truck because you didn't know how to figure out a decent landing for the four of us. That's you.
We made love in that motel room and in the condo (again),
and other places--as you recall, we were like horny teenagers.
When I die, if this manifestation fails, you'll be the one
true passion of my life. Hanging onto your voice:
In the famous words of my lover, "it goes both ways!" I miss you too
so terribly and the EXACT same thoughts go through my head each and every day. How I WISH it was you I was starting a new life with you here.
As someone said, some military jughead who loved seeing
bodies burn, "failure is not an option." In order to avoid that
vortex that sucks me into an inescapable hole, suffocating me with the thought
of not finding you—FAILURE—I future trip to you in my arms, kissing me,
dragging me to our bedroom, the both of us sucked into the
vortex of each other where our singularity has infinite mass until we blink out
to another universe, the one we both connected to.
If you know what I mean.
This whole woo-woo manifesting you comes with some
conditions that I’m just getting used to. Like “don’t think of the how and
when” and those are about the only things I can think about. This how and
waiting for the when tonight. You walking into my arms and planting your mouth
on mine. Yeah, no. I try but I get sucked into the vortex of despair, fighting
for breath, my heart beating out the rhythm of my death march.
The thought of never seeing you again is the scariest thing I’d take to my deathbed. That’s the vortex that overwhelms me now and, too have that in my final moment in life is pretty much how I’d articulate the true meaning of karma.
No deathbed not finding you; no death without your approval. There's no reasonable karma in that.
Not that I think we did anything wrong, not in the least. As
far as I’m concerned, we were royally fucked with a karmic killing joke, a
couple of bugs who just missed mating and making some awesome new species but interrupted
by the beak of some hungry bird.
Manifest. Sheila comes back to me. Sheila. Comes. Back. To. Me. And the other seven… Sheila comes back to me. Sheila comes back to me., Sheila comes back to me. Sheila comes back to me. Sheila comes back to me. Sheila comes back to me. Sheila comes back to me.
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