of safety blankets

I lay on our bed last night, wide awake, worrying that I didn’t know what to do with the blog. I haven’t been feeling like writing lately, because I never have the time.

But as I stared at the ceiling in the dark, I became aware of how his arms and legs are always wrapped around me like a blanket as we sleep – a blanket that I couldn’t, wouldn’t ever want to imagine having to sleep without. If I pull away, he’ll ask if I’m okay, and fall back into sleep without waiting for an answer. In a few moments, he’ll realize I’m not glued to him, so he’ll find me and tuck me back into his chest. You may see this as corny but I can’t tell you how exhilarating it is to feel safe and loved and protected, especially if it’s something you have not experienced before.

And then it hit me. It’s not like I don’t have the time. I just don’t want to do anything without him. Every waking moment is somehow about us, about him and me and our love. I barely survived his trip to Bangalore. I had to wear his unwashed t-shirts, go to sleep in his dirty shorts, stalk his Facebook profile for hours to be able to live. I can’t live like this is all I could manage to say to him every time we spoke before breaking into hysterical sobs.

And now that I am expected to travel for work for a month, I don’t want to is all I can think about. Because when he’s not there, I feel like I’m drowning, like the world will consume me and there will be nothing when he gets back.

Ironically, that’s exactly how I feel when he is around. I feel like he’s consuming me and there’s nothing left for the world. I feel irreverent for so casually sidelining all the other blessings in my life.

This is how I was with my first husband, and it bothers me.

Could it be that I am always looking to be in a relationship that draws me in and keeps me safe? Do I need to pull away a little bit to be able to see things clearly?

I don’t know. Do you?

of delusions

You know how I forgot my car keys in the ex husband’s camera bag.

He came to drop off the car keys today. He was being really sweet, but I suspected that he was rather miffed at having to come to my office all the way just to drop off my car keys. It’s no problem at all, he said. At least I got to meet you again.

Although I know he hates detours and was just being polite, he didn’t seem upset at all. I almost felt

of nothingness

Days pass, and you think of a million different things to talk to the boyfriend fiance about.

All you want to do is pour your secrets out. At first it’s easy to do. You talk about the blog and he tells you how much he enjoys reading it. Then he offers to stop reading if that makes you uncomfortable. Surprisingly enough, you don’t care anymore.

Then you start talking about your childhood. The difficult stuff. Sometimes even you are shocked by the things you say.

of answers

Words languishing
on yellowing paper,
corners rusted brown.
Today,
among ancient diaries
I found an old letter.
Undelivered. Written
a day or
a century ago.
it doesn’t matter
anymore. The letter
that was never sent.
Between its writing
and reading,
time cracks
as my questions
find their own answers

of confessions

Almost 2000 page-views, and your head is reeling already.

You dreamed of being popular last night. Of being known as the woman who dared to bare her soul.

Are you really, though, baring your soul? You hide behind anonymity. You refer to yourself in the second person, as though you’re disowning everything you have done or been. Not so brave now, are you?

Why not say I, I did this? I was raped at seven. I am the one who’s always leaving things unfinished. I couldn’t ever love anything. I was the other woman in his life? I want to throw it all out into the vastness of the universe, and see what it brings back.

But you are not ready to own up. Not just yet.

Is anyone else ready to confess?