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I’ve Tried To Leave You

In between your black and white, I see red ribbons floating.

Ribbons from presents you haven’t bought me yet.

You were always pretty cheap, not to mention invasive.

Sometimes you would slap my hands when I was in the middle of a conversation or call me incessantly while I was at a party trying to get wasted. Your nagging became relentless.

I’ve often wondered what is wrong with you. You’d pull me into a black and white dream only to wake me up to color.

Can’t you see I’m possessed by you? What more do you want?

You’re calculated and guileless. I’m a match and you’re gasoline.

Unpredictable.

Terrestrial planets are on my left hand. Giants on my right. Ceres is my left thumb. It hovers in front of you and hangs with the gravity until it needs to get pulled back into the belt.

Here’s the thing; I couldn’t forget you if I tried, so I’m giving up.

You’re part of me. We go together.

Count to three…count to five. I’m getting tired.

But I feel you. You are here and I am here. We’re in different states, but an electron can be in two places at once.

I am bio-locating now. Thanks a lot.

I take one step. Then another. This is ridiculous. Now, I’m right up to your face, screaming. I’ve asked you a hundred times to leave.

And yet here I sit at your altar, hovering.

I’ve helped you up off the floor and now we’re both passing out.  It’s been a long night.

Your hymn reverberates the floorboards, runs into my neighbor’s apartment, then comes back to me with a note.: “Please SHUT THE HELL UP,” it says.

I hope they don’t call the police. We were loud last night.

Do they think we were fighting?

One, four, five.

Do they think we were drinking?

My voice floats over you.

I feel stronger now.

I want to tell you to go.

But I think you’ve become a permanent fixture.

So I’ll put some coffee on and pull up a chair again.

About Kristen Damasida

Kristen Damasida
Writer and Photographer for Virago Magazine, Kristen grew up listening to vinyl and highlighting the dictionary. Her work has appeared in IrockJazz.com, The East Harlem Journal, Boston's Culturehive, the Ithacan and other publications. Her love of music cannot be eclipsed by her love of words. She's been coined the "Akira Kurosawa of Blogs" by such people as herself. An aspiring musician, she has a serious penchant for peach-flavored anything, multi-tasking, slow-paced thrillers and dreams of going back to South America, laying on the beach, and drinking from a coconut.

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