It's the little things, it's always been the little things with us.
The way in which you look at me like I might be beautiful.
Beautiful as a wildflower, or some fey creature that has momentarily alighted upon your hand. You hold me with such tenderness, like you can'(more)t believe your luck. And when the passion comes it is strong and fierce, like an eddy in the current of the murky waters of the soul. The rough exterior of an inked warrior playing the beast to my Belle. The bookish nerd that laughs in delight when no one is near who might see through the cracks. The gentle caress of your fingertips after all these long years still makes my heart flutter. So often it is these things that are missing between lovers. And yet the gulf between you and I rests with the big things. Questions of spirit and science and health that drown out the promise of things to come. It's always been the little things with us.(less)
We first got the idea for the Society for the Rehabilitation of Injured Snails and Millipedes when my wife stepped on one while hiking. "Oh no!" she squealed as the round exoskeleton popped underneath her foot. She stood frozen, her face stricken with horror and her shoulder blades pinched together, h(more)oping invisible strings would gently lift her off the insect.
"Well lets have a look." I said, unoptimistically. It wasn't a pretty sight. Half his body was flattened, the other half was writhing in agony. He was one of those big brown millipedes, the kind that will curl up in your ear at night when you're camping to stay warm. It's really kind of cute and charming if you think about it.
Molly, my wife, began to bawl. "Hey don't cry," I said soothingly. "He's ok, really he's just got a little kink in him that's all. He'll make a fine recovery, I've seen plenty of kinked millipedes strolling along the forest floor without a care in the world." This last part was true, I've seen them by the hundreds. The many footed creatures are poisonous, or toxic, or whatever and so I imagine many a bird or rodent taking a bite of one and getting that horrible stink in their mouth and deciding against it. The bug continues on, broken but not defeated.
"Imagine how many horribly maimed little critters are out there," Molly wailed. "Can't we do something for them?"
"Of course we can," I informed her. I put my arms around her and gave her a good long hug. While she vowed that we would do our best to help the voiceless victims of the dirt, I made sure to crush the agonized millipede under my foot, before guiding us both out of the forest. (less)
I feel like my happiness that things are somewhat normalized between us is drowned out entirely by the feeling that something is missing, and that thing is you. For a year and a month, you existed in my head, you existed when you held my hand, kissed me softly(more) on the back of my neck when I turned away from you in bed. You existed in soft lit days, your eyes closed and I would look at you, the sound of our soft breathing drowned out by loud birds singing to the morning outside.
The experiences we had, the moments we shared, they all drown out this sadness I feel. I know those moments aren't going to happen, and they shouldn't. I understand I am someone who doesn't like to face or address hard things, I know that about myself. I am someone who would rather go through the motions of trying something new than going through with what I started. This is why I switch and I change and I adjust.
I am going to go through this. This drowning feeling, this tight knot in my chest. I am going to let myself sink, but I am going to push off the ground to rise up again, to come up for air. I'll be ready soon. (less)