Directionless

Day Zero Project

I try to explain things to Dustin and I feel frustrated because he doesn’t really listen. When I talk about things like loving twice. The concept is unfamiliar to him, but I have loved twice. More than twice. I try to keep these walking memories with me because I thoughtlessly, carelessly love them. And sometimes I feel frustrated because I think no one is really listening, that no one can identify.

Dustin and I argued on his bed Friday night. He is content with familiarity and the core of my being resonates with that, but flecks of restlessness float through my blood at times. This is the exact reason we parted ways in 2008, which was followed by two and a half years of tumult. His face flushed and his pupils dilated and he slowly–very slowly–asked what it is that I want.
"A cigarette, for one," I replied.
A stretch of silence later, my throat dried out and I said, "You know where I want to go? The beach. I want to go to the fucking beach."
"What else?" he inquired. He cuddled with me, wrapping his thick forearm around my tiny middle.
"A blue porch," I said after some thought, referencing to the entry I wrote here a few days ago. "I want a blue porch that wraps around the front of my house, where I can sit barefoot with a cup of coffee and watch a rainstorm, or a sunset." A flush crept up my body as I began to relate the words. It’s difficult for me to express exactly what I want. It makes me feel self-conscious.

I suddenly find myself longing for a variety of summer nights. Because things were clear, beautiful, directionless.

-Amanda