Coming Alive

She showed up last night.  I don’t know what the fuck she thinks she’s doing, I thought I was rid of her for good.  People always use that damn cliche phrase “a part of me died that day.” Yeah, that girl, that soul inside me really is dead. At least, I thought she was.  Part of me wanted it to stay that way.  And if any fragments remained I would stomp them out at the first sound of a voice, the first line of a prayer, the first sight of a memory.  I don’t feel, I don’t cry, I don’t love, I dont’ work, I don’t why and I don’t care.  It’s a great excuse to be a bitch, to do whatever the fuck I want, to sleep all day with no reason at all.  I’ve kissed six boys since the last one I loved and not given a damn about any of them.  Sometimes being a shell isn’t so bad- nothing hurts that way. You sit up at night, and when you think you might feel love, you might be returning to something close to human, you realize you really aren’t.  There’s nothing, you’re just empty, and the only thing close to emotion is that knife in your mind, that knife that keeps making you wonder if blood would make it hurt, if maybe you cut out your vocal chords then  people would believe you when you said you had no reasons left to sing. 

I’ve tried to sing. I mean, you can’t kill a lifelong habit in four months. But the sounds were so dull, either dull or wailing. There’s never any sense of control anymore.  The tears either flood or won’t come at all. Last Thursday I felt them well up, and I wanted to place them somewhere on the altar, somewhere where I could say “Hey, this is me. I’m human, and I hurt. Hey, God, remember me? I can’t do this anymore.”  But they wouldn’t come. The priest kept rattling off names and I looked at the boy sitting next to me. Something felt different.  I couldn’t cry with him next to me, but I didn’t want to. Akward. But in a good way. He bought me coffee and I told him about Veronica, I told him about Scott, I told him about Lucy and Laurel and everything that used to mean something.  He doesn’t understand yet, he’s not ready for the part of me that hurts, but he has the eyes, the eyes of that fantasy, that made up perfection who knows how to hold my heart.  And I know that soon, it will hurt, it will hurt in the most wonderful way. I know that soon I’ll be able to say the words behind my kisses.  And now some part of me is waking up, is trying to cry, to laugh, every time he calls me beautiful.  Sometimes, I almost believe him.  I think that maybe if this girl inside me ever wakes up I might be. I think I used to be, once.  I started to find my voice the other day.  Today I smiled, really smiled, and started to sing:  

I remember the time you told me love is touching souls
surely you touched mine
‘cuz part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time…

I met a woman, she had a mouth like yours,
she knew your devils and your deeds and she said
‘go to him, stay with him, but be prepared to bleed…’

my blood, my holy wine, you taste so bitter, so bitter and so sweet
well, I could drink a case of you, darlin’,  and still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet