Maintain A Little
I forget what it feels like to be happy.
I forget, and I'm better for the forgetting. You can't miss what you don't
remember. You can't want it, or wake up at night reaching for something -
someone - that isn't there, won't ever be there.
You can't be unhappy if you don't know what happy is.
As lies go, it's a good one. I like it. I try to live it. But
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm even here anymore. I wonder if there has ever
been anything but this choking, twisting feeling of wrong.
Sometimes, I curl up on my bed and stare at the ceiling and I don't move,
because if I do, everything inside me will break into tiny pieces. Don't
move, don't breathe, don't be. It works. Sometimes.
Most times it doesn't.
I try to convince myself that things, it, I will get better. I know I will.
But I don't believe it. It feels like I've been this way forever -- as it
is, was, and ever shall be, world without end, amen.
God, I just want to feel good again.
I want to feel...something, anything. I want to feel Willow's hands on my
body; I want to feel her mouth, open under mine, as we kiss and laugh and
roll around like teenagers in love. I want to feel her back pressed up
against my chest, and be lost in the smell of her shampoo.
She smells - smelled - like apples and lavender. Like home, and spring
mornings, and everything good and right and peaceful.
I miss her. I miss her so much I don't know what to do with myself, except
bury my head in the sand and pretend I don't feel anything at all.
I can't miss her if I can't remember why she was special. Truth defined by
I don't miss her.
I fling myself into music, into band life, into Devon, into something I never
was, never will be, but can pretend to.
Devon makes me laugh; he's always done that for me. He makes me feel, just a
little, enough to remind me why feeling is so good. Devon buys me wacky
stuff like an electric blue feather boa and tells me -- without laughing --
that I look absolutely fabulous, darling.
He crawls into bed with me -- blindly, stupidly drunk and high out of his
mind -- and wraps his arm around my waist and falls asleep, drooling into my
He wakes up, embarrassed and indignant, and accuses me of corrupting him. He
reminds me that not everything is about Willow, and that it never was. He
knows everything about me, like Jeff and terminal fur, and he teases me and
keeps things in perspective.
Devon reminds me that life can be good sometimes. Especially when life
involves plastic lightsabers and happy-making brownies.
He forces me to remember being happy.
I really hate him for that.