Got the Life

         So here we are.  I don't know exactly where we went wrong.  I doubt it was any single event which shaped our future together into the rotten heap it's become.  Instead, it had to have been a collection of things.  I can't deny my own responsibility and she can't either, though at times, we both try.  Tonight wasn't going so well to begin with.  She was on the computer, talking to him.  I told her I didn't like it.  That I was just sick of it.  After all this time, she still loves him.  She's with me and trying to make things good again, but not really, because she loves him. 
         "Makes it hard to get anywhere" I tell her, as calmly as I can despite her growing aggravation and obvious displeasure "It's been months and you can't let him go.  It's him or me, and that's not because I'm a dick, it's because that's the way it works."
         "Well I don't know the rules!"  she returns.  "I've never done this before!" at this point, she's clearly annoyed and beginning to withdraw from me.  This isn't going to go anywhere.  Nowhere good that's for sure.  "You want me to just cut someone out of my life?"
         I sneer.  So much for trying to remain calm and collected.  I don't hate him.  He's just like me in a sense.  Though I don't really know him, he shares with me the fact that he loves this woman like no other and we're both hanging on the hope that she'll eventually choose to be with us.  I just hate what he represents in my life.  He is the other life that she craves.  He is the embodiment of a life for her without me in it.  He is the reason she doesn't return my affection like I'd hoped she would when we decided to try to work things out.  "Yes I do."  I reply disdainfully.  "If we're going to make this work, you have to try.  I mean really try, and as long as he's a part of your life and you're feeding that love you feel for him, you won't."
         She hates being told this.  I've said it before.  You'd think I'd have learned by now.  "Fuck you!"  she screams.  Now she's become entirely irate.  Her tears flow and I know she hates herself for crying at moments like this.  "I AM trying!  And I fucking hate it when you belittle my attempts!" she continues, her hands balled up in tight little fists at her sides, she storms toward the door.
         "Where are you going?" I ask, bitter that she'd leave at a moment like this, but not in the least bit surprised.  That was the way she did things.  I'd be up most of the night, worried sick and stewing in my juices.  She'd talk to me tomorrow.  Maybe the next day.  But I hated it every single time that she did this to me.
         "What do you care?" she asked in a rhetorical fashion before she grabbed up her purse and threw her cell-phone into it.  She wouldn't answer my calls.  She didn't use the phone to communicate with me.  Then she walked out into the night, slamming the door behind her so that the chain lock clacked hard against the wood before I heard nothing else. 
         I bite my lower lip while it turns downward in a grimace.  "What the fuck?"  I ask the back of the door through clenched teeth.  Then I begin to rub my temples.  My stomach, my head, my bones....  they all ache.  This kind of stress isn't good for anyone in any walk of life.  Yet I just keep coming back for more.  Nobody else holds the kind of power she does over me.  I know in the morning, that if she hasn't at least called, I'll have to be the one to do it.  Then, try to carry on for a while longer, pretending everything is going to be ok and hope that she will deal with the whole situation.  But I know...  she won't.

         Waking up this early was unnatural.  I know I'd fallen asleep only because I wake up.  But since I've yet to put curtains on my bedroom window, the sunlight is too much and I start to stir.  Opening my eyes reveals something of a surprise.  She's here.  Lying on her side and though she's facing away from me she's undressed.  The beams of early morning light shine on her bare back through the window above the bed.  She came back sometime after I fell asleep.  She never did that.  This has got to be a good sign. 
         Reaching out to run my fingers gently along the rose tattoed on her shoulder blade, she doesn't move, but her skin is chilled.  The room is pretty cool though.  This late in the fall, I enjoy sleeping with the window open to let in that crisp night air.  I lift my arm to close the window and then second guess myself, instead I reach over to pull the blanket up to her neck then shuffle my own body closer, each movement I make ever so carefully so I don't disturb her sleep.  I hold her, sharing with her the warmth of my own body and she doesn't push me away.  Yet another good sign.  Maybe she just hadn't woken up, but I'll take it as a good sign.  Maybe this time I finally got through to her.  Maybe now she would work to make things better for us.  Maybe....  forget it.  Just enjoy it.  Smile.  Things will get better.  Go back to sleep.

         I wake up a few hours later and she's still there.  Usually she always woke up before me and went off to play on the computer while I wasn't around to bug her.  Not today.  Either she's too stubborn to face me just yet or she's not feeling well.  No, she must not be feeling well.  It's the little things that matter right?  So I get up, careful still not to disturb her, and throw on some pants.  Heading out to the kitchen, I realize that I'm still not feeling great about all of this.  But I can't give up.  I did last time.  It's not going to be that easy this time.  I want this to work, I really do.
         There's not much in the cupboards, but some chicken soup and toast are on the menu.  That'll make her feel better.  It always did.  Then I'd rub her stomach for her.  She'd smile and give a little sigh of relief, and then we'd talk.  Rationally.  But when I get back to the bedroom with her food and call to her, she won't even look at me.  I feel a rush of bitterness again.  Why did she come back if she wasn't even going to bother with some sort of resolution?  But, I don't feel like arguing any more.  Not today.  I just need to give her a while.  So I leave the soup on the bedside table beside her motionless body.  "It's here if you want it."  I tell her.  She'll cool down.  She just needs time.  Just go about my day.  Is that the phone? 

         It's been three days now since I woke up to find her there in my bed.  She's still here but she won't even fucking talk to me.  I might as well be alone here.  After all this time, she's still in love with another man and somehow I'm the one in the wrong.  I let her put me through this, I realize, but I just love her so fucking much.  I don't want to see her go.  I don't want to see her happy without me.  It's all or nothing, and she hates that, but that's the way it has to be for both of our sakes.  I'm just so sick and tired of this same old argument.  Sure, the circumstances this time are different, but it's always the exact same shit.  I've tried leaving her alone.  I've tried holding her so close it hurts.  But nothing makes her happy.  Nothing ever changes anything.  And I'm starting to forget what I'm even fighting for.  It's hard having faith in something you've never been given any indication of.  Ask any priest, I'm sure they feel the same way.  Sure, it's not fair to compare a relationship to a religion, but the principle is the same.  Both require dedication and abstinence in one form or another.  And then there's the fucking phone again!  No...  calm down.  Seriously, you just have to show her.  Believe in her.

         Another idea comes later that night.  Tried and true this one.  I roll up a fat joint and make some popcorn.  Movie night always helped.  It didn't get us any closer to happiness, but it had always worked to ease the tension.  We'd roll out the blankets on the floor, get stoned, and watch a movie.  Well...  some of a movie.  We always ended up missing some because once the pot kicked in, we'd make love.  Maybe that's not the right way to phrase it.  We'd have sex.  Angry sex sometimes.  But it was always fantastic and afterwards, we'd lay in eachother's arms confessing our love and just blissing on the physical feelings that were undeniable between us.
         Tonight though, she's still obviously bitter.  She still won't talk to me and she's entirely cold to my advances.  Pot or no, this clearly isn't going to work.  Maybe I did worse than not get through to her.  Maybe I said something that pushed her in the opposite direction.  What did I say?  I can hardly even remember anymore.  It all seems so stupid.  Is she too far from me now to have any hope of making things work?  God I hope not, but what else am I supposed to do?  I'm doing the best I can.  Pushing myself to the limit of my patience and health just to see something work.  I'd rather be without her than let her keep doing this to me...  but I won't let her go.  Not again.  But still, this might really be the end and it terrifies me.  Dwell tomorrow, sleep tonight. 

         Easier said than done right?  Of course I can't sleep.  My stomach acid is churning around in my throat again from the anxiety I can't help but feel in this situation.  I sneak out of the bedroom and go to root around in the kitchen again for some antacids.  I doubt they'll do anything, but it's all I have.  After chewing up a couple of the chalky tablets, I head for the living room, grabbing my notebook along the way.  My furniture is orange corduroy.  She picked it out, I paid for it.  But I did love it.  It suited me I thought.  She agreed.
         Plopping down on the sofa I start one of, what has become a large series of, letters to her, that she'll never read.  I find it therepeutic.  Writing things that I couldn't possibly say for fear of angering her.  Writing things that I'd need to be much stronger to say aloud.  It never made things any better in the past, but it's helped to clear my mind some.  It's helped me to put things into perspective and make conclusions that were rational, despite the fact that I could never seem to bring myself to act upon any of the things I decided upon in my writing.  But then... that's why she never got to read them.  If I don't tell anyone anything, I don't actually have to act upon it if I don't feel like it.  I don't commit to much.  Think I hear the phone again but it couldn't be.  It's way too late for anyone to be calling.

         Two more days.  I'm so lonely and she's right there all the time.  I really can't take much more of this.  I feel like I've lost a part of myself and someone's dangling it above my head on a string just out of reach.  Desperate for attention.  For anything really.  Be it peace or release.  It'd be better than this perpetual limbo. 
         A last ditch effort.  I put on some music.  Searching my mp3 player for that perfect song.  If it doesn't reach her, if my actions don't reach her, then it really is hopeless.  Yes!  This is the one.  That same song we danced to years ago at the company Christmas party.  I was drunk.  But she told me I sang to her.  I don't even know the lyrics to the song but it had done something to sweep her off her feet.  You know the song, it was in that superhero movie.  Really sweet song, but not something a guy is supposed to like.  When it's just us though, I don't care.  I turn it up loud and go to pull her out of the computer chair. 
         She's resistant, but I make her dance with me.  I won't let this go.  I shift our weight from foot to foot, holding her close to me and when I feel her give in some, I lean closer.  I smell her hair with a deep, heartfelt sigh of exhaled breath and begin to half-sing, half-hum the song in time with the stereo.  When I close my eyes, I hear the sweetness of her laugh.  Bells on the breeze.  It's sweeter than honey, this feeling.  After all this time, I feel like a junkie getting his fix.  There is nothing else.

         I don't hear anyone come in.  It's just her and I in that moment that I wish I could freeze forever in time.  We sway to the music.  Song after sweet song plays and we dance.  I can't even imagine any of the problems that have plagued me over the last few days.  Someone did come in though.  I only realize it when they're grabbing me from behind.  They shout but I can't make it out over the music.  My arms are pulled away and I lose my grip on her.  I fight and I scream but it doesn't help.  She falls.  I'm being dragged away from her by two strong men and they just let her fall.  It's impossible to hear the sound of her hitting the floor, again because of the music.  She stares at me, unblinking.  Her eyes are vacant.  She doesn't seem to care and I can't fight these strong arms off.  She lies on the floor while I'm taken away.  And she doesn't stop them...  don't fight...  it's over.

         At the funeral, my doctor is sitting beside me.  There are a lot of people I know I've met, but I really can't put names to faces right now.  One that I do recognize is her sister.  She's glaring at me.  I think the only reason I realize that it's her is because they both look so much alike when they're angry.  I smile, though it's not directed at her, it does make her scowl and ball her hands up into little fists at her sides.
         They tell me that she died in my bed.  I find it hard to understand how and they won't tell me, not matter how much as I ask them.  I'm not even sure that they know.  I notice that they all seem disgusted with me when I ask when it had happened though.  My doctor tries to tell them that I'm not well or something.  That shuts them up at least.  But it doesn't matter anyway.  They're lowering her into the ground.  She's going away from me.  This is what I was afraid of, but right now it's not fear I'm feeling.  What am I feeling? 
         I wonder if she misses me yet...