Fight Night
February 26, 2021 I can still remember what it was like to have a voice. A full-color photo, ties worn as belts and the nature of necklines too conventional for my scissors-in-the-handbag ways. Wait. That’s a lie. When have I ever carried a ‘handbag’? I’m living with a man I love. I mean.. Love. He’s got the dark eyes, light green in the afternoon sun, and the strong chin with the softest hugs… he is all heart. But, each day drags on. A veritable 7/11 of possible choices with which we can be turned down an aisle to tears of love, kisses and promises, snuggled on the sofa, wedged between mottled pillows and ash ridden fingers. The next turn, in the next moment, I cannot help but be.. Suspicious. Extremely. The words spill out of my eyes and over my mouth until it is the straightest line. I, am a line of questioning. And he does. Not. like. It. Here is what I would say: (if every in-road to this conversation didn’t end with him storming off at the sound of: my-voice-making-sounds-th