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Tag Archives: Edy’s slow churned ice cream

You’re the one that I want

It’s been so long since I’ve had you. I’m dreaming about you day and night. Sometimes I see you with another and I want you so bad it’s hard to look, but I can’t turn away either. You’re so close I could touch you, taste you, but I don’t, because if I do, I’m a goner.

You play it so cool. I try to erase you from my mind; to distract myself with others. But they are just sad substitutes. Sure, they are sweet, but they aren’t you. Only you make me melt. And I know I do the same to you. I’ve seen it. And when you do, you’re quite irresistible.

I know we’ll be together again soon. I have never been able to stay away from you for long. I’m addicted, even though you’re not the best thing for me. Somehow I don’t care. I want you anyway. I must have you.

But for now, I needed a little distance. I was in over my head, not capable of going one night without you.  I was using you for all my emotional and physical needs, and I need to be able to cope without you as a crutch. It’s a test of my strength because sometimes with you, it’s easy to lose myself.

One of these days, I will be done with all this pretending. With all this running around with others who aren’t you. Who don’t satisfy me the way you do. Who don’t make me feel as good. I’ll always come back to you. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.

So I’m counting the days. And truly, the day I get my hands on you, I will consume you. But until then I wait, and I pine for the moment when you will touch my lips again.*

 

love

Me and You. 4 Eva.

 

*It’s been two weeks since I’ve eaten any ice cream. I usually do this once or twice a year when I think I’ve just completely lost control. Thankfully, it never lasts.

Talk to the Spoon

At this moment, I am spooning giant scoops of ice cream from a tub of Edy’s slow churned Rocky Road from my freezer, drowning it in sprinkles and eating it compulsively, my head cradling the phone as I eat.

I am listening to him, but it’s all just words; the same old tortured words of a tortured existence.

Today’s problem of the day has gotten itself pregnant and is now two problems. He has no protection from himself, so there is always the risk of multiplication.

During conversations like these, I am unable to keep the spoon out of my mouth. Luckily his diatribes need no response. He can talk on and on about his suffering with almost no interruption, leaving me free to torture myself.

I see his form, even though he is over the bridge and I am through a tunnel, sitting awkwardly on his bed; his face drooped as low as his body. The cigarette held carelessly in his hands. Smoke floating up past his glazed over eyes; the ashes falling on jeans riddled with the cigarette holes of frustrated days gone by. He might fall asleep like this if he stopped talking. He might fall asleep even if he doesn’t.

My spoon scrapes bottom. My stomach is extended, my heart divided. I reach for the tub again. It calms something out of control inside of me which threatens to explode in these conversations, but with every bite I grow angrier with him and with myself, so instead of being soothed, I boil.

“I want to stop talking,” I hear him say, his voice a cloud over my head.  I want you to as well, I don’t reply. “I know I’m talking too much.” He repeats.

The recognition is brief. It is hard for him to focus on about anything but himself and his pain for anything more than an acknowledgement. Yet, he pauses to ask how I am; which should be considered some kind of progress, even though it’s fleeting and not quite genuine, because I know it is difficult for him.

I could interrupt and fill the space with my noise, but my tongue is numb and I can’t muster the effort to even pretend to be normal tonight. So, on he goes, moving without transition from one problem to another, one pain to the next.

I have heard enough to last ten lifetimes.

Still, he can’t stop talking. I can’t stop spooning. And we both can’t stop hating who we are at this moment.

ice cream spoon

Hurt so good