Cat and yarn

My grandmother found out we were through today. I could hear her voice crack, when she whispered, “No.” I dreaded telling her, but she asked. Her sweet voice asked if I was okay, and I triumphantly responded, “of course…. Come on now?” God forbid she knew how painful it feels.

She said, “Honey, I thought she was going to be the one.” We shared a moment in silence, then she said the very best thing…. “I love you sweetheart, and I’m so proud of the man you have become.”

What’s crazy is how petrified we feel when it comes to our emotions. I share them here, yes, but only here. I’m Devon, the analyst, the fun guy, the heavy drinker, the whatever the hell label that’s been placed on me in my everyday. I love to make people laugh, their smiles are addicting. Joy in people’s faces fills my heart with happiness.

Sometimes, I slip up and say things and feelings aloud, only to be met with an awkward pat on the shoulder with an invitation to drink more, or a low key insult…… In the most friendly way, of course. I liked being with someone who accepted the fucked pieces of me. The pieces that were difficult, and there are plenty. 

Now, as she texts me, I feel like yarn to a cat, like a play thing. Her messages seem distant now, almost as if every period whispered, “suffer.” Is it intentional, perhaps not. Isn’t it funny? Love is a beautiful thing, a very dangerous, beautiful thing….

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