The creaking floorboards are killing me, I wake up at night needing to stand up, and so loud and explosive the wooden nightmare starts. I hear them walking, dropping things, they wake me up and I hear them moan and moan, as I lay here naked yet alone.
How did it come to this?
She comes home late and walks in and out of her room, over and over again, until the noises mix in my dreams and I open my eyes. Neck pain, shoulders tight, dry throat. I can't live with myself,
Now the pipes are clogged, and how wouldn't they if avoidance and clutter are all over. Trash cans full of plastic, warm and rotting. The fridge is making noises and the dishwasher throws up water because it gets stuck. This house has too many emotions from too many sick people, I am too many sick people, I feel too much. How am I supposed to be ready when I feel empty again?
This is all about wanting what I can't have, wanting that emotional unavailability, wanting not wanters to want me, so of course, how can I ever be fulfilled when I am an addict that can't recognize the substance of addiction because it is being poured into different mixtures and glasses and bars and cities and continents. And worlds.
Each one of us is an entire universe inside, we go around, living our lives and never stop to think that the person who is standing in front of you at the red light is exactly that: an infinite universe in themselves.
We walk around with this massive, infinite space trapped within this body, doomed to only share it with clothes, movements, and... words. Ah words, the most awful, separating instrument we own, yet here I am worshipping them, hoping they will open up enough to give me the ability to fully express all that I am, though I am constantly reminded of the impossible possibility. And I am constantly reminded of the unique constellations we are, and your pain may feel like my sorrow, and your love may feel like my hunger, and your happiness may feel like my rage.
My universe is filled with rage, but that rage is made of love, a love that has been unwanted, unsatisfied, tore and stepped on. I don't use the word "love" anymore, I mean, I use it, but I have learned to change its meaning to something less watery and more "rocky".
Not like the splendid mountains, or volcanoes covered in snow, more like the dried-out lands that other universes have destroyed for the sake of the prisons they are in, that one small part of our universe, the part that lets us feel the universe we are all surrounded with, and get in touch with all the others' around.
My love, that deep, majestic, colorful feeling has become harsh, dry and hidden from the light. See the ring was never golden, the ring was wounded flesh and blood, it was betrayal from the ones who promised to love us the most. It was confusion, manipulation and that exact space between the wall, your body, and the knife. Not safe to stay, not safe to run.
Growing up comes with plenty of knowledge, as so with even more of this exact space, you begin to understand society, you want to leave it but you need it, and though it hurts you, it also brings you the most grandiose joys.
So what can we do now?
I have to tear it all down, my gut says, doubtful, as my heart screams "no!" as it's voice breaks with a sharp rip. And so my brain stretches its knots, and hugs them both, hoping to make sense of it all, it asks all the right questions:
Is this just a protection for the pain that may come when someone else would want to tear your house down?
Does it have to be completely destroyed to rebuild what we all dream of?
What will happen with all the memories, the emotions, the love and loss that we shared in it?
So we all cried, hugging, until brain steps away and says:
How do we want our new house to look like?
How can we get it?
The memories will stay in us, what we felt will never be erased. We have each other and we make a great team, we can overcome so much, and there are so many possibilities. So let's mourn the destruction of this house and build-up the very best foundations that we can get with our incredible skills.
And so we all together plan how to make the perfect house, windows on all directions, a terrace with a ceiling, wooden floors that won't creak, pipes that are easily unclogged when they do, solar panels to go with our values and make like easier. Carpets, an old fire stove, a desk right next to a window, the most comfortable chairs, a flowery yard with all the herbs that can help us heal, and a green-house to have food that nurtures our soul, no matter how bad the season goes.
Is this what every house needs? Nurture, warmth, love and fresh air? I can't know, but it is definitely what my house needs, and if I have to tear it down, which we still don't know, it will be fine because we have all the possibilities to make this, the best versions of ourselves.