everything went from wrong to right

walking to work this morning, in my brand new white platform sandals...white shoes, oh how i struggle with thee...but these are very cute. and i have a nice pedicure. and i'm walking and listening to my ipod and Jeff Buckley's Lover you should have come over is playing...and i'm feeling not as groovy as one would think. but i'm happy-ish right? so what's the problem. well no offence, but it's you, Jeff Buckely (RIP), and this damn song, which i listened to over and over again when the C man and i took a hiatus from one another's company not so very long ago. so i think "self, what up? change the tune" and there i find her...Kylie...Love at First Sight. and my stride gets longer and bouncier. and no sooner am i feeling the groove, wearing my fancy white shoes, than the indigent men on Queen East start talking to me "good morning darlin", "marry me", "you're a fucking whore" etc and i know all is right with the world. every girl has a certain kind of guy she attracts (good guys, assholes, etc). For me, it's the homeless and mentally ill.

hypothetically - a story
I miss you. But I haven’t left you yet. When I do it will be like a girl jumping out of a cake, but less pleasant for you, I think. I hope that what you feel is relief, the weight in your head and chest dissipating as you take the information in, “I am leaving you.” I wish that for you. But mostly I think you will feel surprise, like a tiger jumping out of the closet. I guess I put the tiger in there but I’m waiting for the right time to let you know. I have been leaving for so long now that I’ve come right back around, and I miss you. The way we huddle in bed, blankets tight across our chests so we could make room for the cat, see the television, or take turns reading from Harry Potter. Our feet frolicking together, like puppies, under the weight of the duvet. I miss that you always get up early and make eggs and tea and then send me off to work, ignoring my grumpy mood. And squashing a hat on my head when it is cold. And encouraging me to stay home when I’m sick. you are really quite good, I miss that.
I will probably find someone who is cruel and senseless.
I have a new apartment, one bedroom, and I quietly pay rent so it is there when I am ready. In my head, I decorate the place. I choose paint colours like lavender and lichen green. Light colours you would never choose. But this is my place after all—not yours, not ours.
You will probably ask me “why?” I’m not sure that it matters, well, not to me anyway. But I am trying to think up an answer for you. There is an ocean of disappointment between us. And ocean filled with ideas about who I thought you were, who you are and what you are going to be, flitting in and out of light and darkness. And the same for me. I am held under by what I think I could have been. Living this life; flat and filled with bills and unvisited countries; has turned me on you. It’s cruel, I know, but so it is. Together we have chipped away at each other and ourselves, constantly reducing ourselves to what is base and unloveable. Your hands on my skin are hot but they leave no mark on me. I’m hard and hollow. Your voice, your words in my ear go nowhere. My eyes open and close, as they should. My head nods in acquiescence or shakes in protest, but I hear nothing you say. My face holds its expression but inside I’m off somewhere else. Looking for all things new. I’m thinking about all the other things I think about when I’m unplugged from you, running on my own power, wondering about what to wear tomorrow, what to eat, do I really like anything that I like. Or have I, like tofu, taken on so much of you I can’t distinguish between the two of us. That is possible. But the more I leave you inside, the more I reclaim. I am beautiful and golden when I walk in the street. my legs stronger, my stride longer. And when I start to miss you, in my future life, I pull up a bit on my pace. My shoulders creep towards my ears and I realize I haven’t told you yet.