Exhale.

She lies on her bed, watching the smoke rise as she takes a drag on her cigarette.  The TV is on but she’s not really paying attention.  Her mind is elsewhere.  Her mind is on him.  His body, tall and lean, his eyes mischievous, and his mind always moving.  He is unlike any man she’s ever been with.  He’s… nice.  He loves her, and he treats her well.  He doesn’t play games.  It’s odd, really, being in such a stable relationship after being in unstable ones for the past 10 years.

Another drag of the cigarette. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

She thinks about how different her life is now.  How much things have changed since those unstable times.  How much she has changed.  She was a different person back then.  It seems like another life entirely.  Another two lives really, one when she was in school, one after she graduated.  The phases in her life are distinct to her, as are the moments when she transitioned from one to another.

She watches the movie for a moment and realizes the woman on screen is much like her.  Or much like she was.  Lost, lonely, searching for that unattainable high.  In love with the wrong man.  Snorting, Cutting, Drinking her way into oblivion. 

Inhale. 

Exhale.

It’s hard for her to think of that version of herself in past tense.  She swirls her drink, listening to the ice clink against the sides of the glass and wonders if she is really such a different person now.  “That’s just silly,” she says to the dog curled up next to her.  She was never one to believe in people changing.  Sure, changing behaviors is possible, to an extent.  But really changing as a person?  She had given up on people doing that a long time ago.

She turns her gaze back to the movie and lets her thoughts swirl around in her head like the drink in her glass.  She knows she is better these days, more emotionally stable, more loving, more… alive.  But she’s also very aware that the person she was last year, 5 years ago, 10 years ago, still lives inside her.  The person she was is still breathing, still coursing through her veins. 

She lights another cigarette.  Smoking helps her think.

At first this realization scares her.  She wonders if she will ever be truly wholesome.  If she will ever be truly good.  She cracked when she was young.  She made that crack larger as she got older, shattering pieces here and there, never to be repaired.

Inhale.

She’s sad about this…

Exhale.

She gets lost in the movie for a moment and realizes why she loves these types of movies so much… movies about the gritty, dirty, intense, dark side of life.  She loves them not only because she can relate, but because that dark side has an appeal to her. 

At that moment she realizes that she doesn’t want to be good.  She doesn’t want to be whole. 

<span style="font-fam

ily: Bookman Old Style”>She likes those cracks.  Those shattered pieces.  They are a part of her life, no matter how broken.  They will always be a part of her.

She will always be broken.

She will always have pieces missing.

She will never be good.

And as she drifts off to sleep, she realizes that she’s okay with that.

Exhale.