On the rug again 

 März 1, 2022

We’re on the rug again. 

Candles, music, endless fucking. 

Four bars of selected chocolate - untouched. 

Two glasses of exquisite wine - almost full. 

Eventually he collapses, falls asleep in the middle of a sentence. 

Our limbs stay wrapped around each other until the morning. The softness of his skin makes me forget the hardness of the floor under the rug.

April light falling through dusty windows is chiseling his cheek, his neck, the form of his ear. 

Please please please. Moment, please don’t pass.

But then they always do. 

We’re on the couch again. 

Excuses, explanations, endless discussions.

I will leave, I will stay, please leave, please stay, this is not what I want, this is what I want, this is who I am, I can’t change but I’ll try to do better, I don’t think you can. 

I don’t know what I want, I will leave, I will stay, I’m confused, please be clear, this is what you said, this is what you should have said, this is what I expected you to say, this is why I don’t have expectations anymore, I will leave, I will stay, I want to feel welcome but I don’t want to fight for it. 

Three o’clock in the morning and I’m shivering. 

Drowsily I plod down the stairs to fill my hot water bottle.

His voice in the kitchen, on the phone with his girlfriend. 

They’re having discussions, too. 

Back to bed with an empty water bottle. 

„All my girlfriends ran away“, he said, „including my wife.“

Red flags, red flags. 

I know better. 

But knowing never counts.