cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

midnight mass was filled to the brim with heartbreakingly beautiful monologues that shook me to my core, but the line “you never felt like a sin” and the tenderness in pruitt’s voice when he delivered it has been stuck in my head and my heart since i first heard it and i don’t think it will ever leave me

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

I can't believe this man

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

midnight mass saying the line between divinity and monstrosity is nonexistent and how you categorize it is a matter of what you choose to put your faith in. how far you’re willing to stretch belief to accept the things in front of you that you’ve been told are good even if they’re ugly. seeing is believing but can you believe what you see. bro i am flat on my back

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

mike flanagan when he's going to make a new thing

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

the last words i remember my mother ever saying to me was "i love you too."

i was curled on the Lazy Boy, seated as far away from her as i could possible be.

her bed was parked in the living room, had been now for 2 months. the couch was crushed on the opposite wall, blocking out some of the sunlight from the window by keeping the curtains pinned down. over in the corner was my mother's bathroom chair. and next to my mom was this thing that beeped sometimes. snot-covered tissues and baby diapers filled the waste basket. the floor was dangerously littered with baby toys. there were blankets everywhere, blue and heavy.

my legs were tangled in the blanket she had given me for camp last year. i fingers plucked at the orange tassels. i took small breaths every time i turned my head.

cancer isn't contagious. i knew it wasn't. but that didn't stop me from taking small breaths as I turned my head away from her, purposely having pushed the Lazy Boy away from her under the guise of giving her space, as if the distance would help put something between the smell of her sickness and the smell i've always associated her with.

she didn't smell like coffee, cigarettes and something floral anymore. her sickness was her smell.

and it made me mad. a rage that would scratch, not itch, underneath my skin.

i love her. that's what i told myself as i watched get spoon fed. it was like loving a shadow. her hands trembled and shook every time she picked up the plastic spoon.

i felt the shame she was trying to keep hidden and turned my head every time the spoon touched her lips. her mouth would open. her false teeth were gone. she would mash the food to the roof her mouth and swallow.

you expect to see your parents like that someday. hair thin. mouth full of gums. trembling at a slight breeze.

you expect to seem them lose controls of their bodily functions. you expect the dissent. the walk to death's door is slow and ugly. but you expect that ugliness. you also expect for you to be old and for them to be old.

but i didn't expect it, because I was 16. the idea of my mom dying was for some faraway future me to live through. and by the time it was happening, in the way that this sort of thing happens, unexpectedly, it was already too late.

my mom habitually kept things from us, late payments, debt, the fact that she had been dying. she was good at hiding things, sweeping things under the rug and making so whatever was hidden didn't bunch under the cloth, flat and small like a line of dust without a dustpan. but then something happened. someone tripped and the mess was found.

she gave up before we could gain any footing.

i loved this memory of my mom, where she was alive and healthy. so i ran away, online and immersed myself in something that didn't look like death. but everything looked like death with her shadow around.

i tried to convince myself that she would get better.

she never did; not for long anyways, not forever, like i hoped.

i learned to love her shadow, begrudgingly. and sometimes when i said "i love you" i felt like i was saying "i'm sorry."

"i love you." i'm sorry that you pulled the short end of the cosmic lottery.

"i love you." i'm sorry that your children still can't get along even though you're bedridden and trembling.

"i love you." i'm sorry that i bullied every man you ever dated. i felt like they were never good enough for you and because of that you never got to find the man of your dreams.

"i love you." i'm sorry it's you and not me in this bed.

"i love you." i'm sorry i was so mean to you.

"i love you." i'm sorry that i don't know how to give properly give you your medication.

"i love you." i'm sorry for saying that i hated you so many times. i never meant it.

"i love you." i'm sorry that i don't know how to handle your sickness and instead keep myself locked in my room, because it's easier

"i love you a lot." i'm sorry that all I can say is I love you and that that loves feels like an apology.

and then she said "i love you too." and gave me this weak and tired smile, no gums, no shaky fingers, mouth warbling around soft butter noodles.

she said it like she meant it. not in the haphazard way parents say to you when distracted. they love you but there's no focus.

this was focus. her face looking into min and her saying "i love you too" without flinching. it was like she was saying all the things i was saying. that she was sorry that i had to see her like this, sorry that i was so young, sorry she was leaving me behind.

and i didn't cry.

for the first time. i didn't cry when my mom had spoken.

after i had gotten back from summer camp that year, i always cried. she would sigh too weak in my direction and it was like her body commanded that i cry.

so i'd cry; run to the bathroom, trembling all over, tugging at my shirt as i took sharp breaths trying to calm myself down. cry myself to sleep. long, heaving sobs that ate away at my appetite and sat heavy on my face for days. my eyes would get wet when i'd watch her chew her food and i'd step out in the cold fall air. i'd let the air breeze through me, and the chill kept the tears back a lot easier than if i tried to tell myself not to cry.

"i love you too." i didn't cry, not this time.

instead i breathed out a sigh, heavy and filled with something close to wary acceptance.

don't die, i wanted to say. don't leave me here, not here with them; these strangers who only love me because you do.

don't die. i wanted to say. but i didn't.

instead i looked at her. i was still tangled in that orange and cream blanket, the one i still keep on my bed. still afraid of her sickness. i'd watch as she got fed by hand. i would give her a small smile as she took another bite, because her being able to keep things down, was rare.

i said "i love you" the way kids tack onto the end of a phone conversation, right after saying they'll be safe, just as they're hanging up.

she died the next week.

K.R. -- I find myself missing you. the 24th is 9 days away. will i still be the only one to put flowers on your grave this year?

[cozykitdrinkingcoffeeatmidnight]

Choreography

I can not love you as I once did for I am not who I once was.

My skin peely-wally.

My hair snarled. I've lost the pink on my nose.

My satin is no longer soft to the touch.

My eyes are filled with clouds. I see differently now.

The way out bed shifts under our weight causes the springs to creak and groan as if things left unsaid are too much.

You turn to me. The way you breathe in, and breathe out tickles.

You look unlike yourself in the dark. The set of your jaw. The way your lips are chapped.

Does my blood taste like wine when it hits the roof of your mouth?

My hands can no longer hold you.

You're queer in the quiet.

Once comforting heat fades from our sheets as you rub your fingers along my cheekbone. You grip so tight I bruise without you having meant to.

I'm a stranger in this familiar coupling.

I'm cold.

K.R.