"We Need To Talk"

My dissatisfaction with you has begun to take on proportions I could have never imagined.

You roll out of bed like the world owes you something for simply … waking. Please, put on your satin robe and realize that it does not. In fact, it’s you that owes the world something, you owe me something, and perhaps it’s time you figured out a productive form of recompense that doesn’t include disappearing into the damask with your face and your mind lost in someone else’s pages. Perhaps you could put a little heart into it … give it the old college try, click your heels together, flap your wings, I-think-I-can, I-think-I-can … or just pretend, I’ll settle for that, for now.

In spite of you, everyone gets out of here, morning after morning, on time, feeling loved, adored. You realize that that is what they deserve, but it’s no thanks to you. Too much, you take their love for granted, thinking it will always be there like the deepness of the Grand Canyon or the colors of the sunrise. Trust me when I say that it will not. They are growing and changing as fast as shadows and clouds and soon they’ll too big and too far away to touch, like kites on a strong wind, and that will be a very sad day for you … and for them. Sunrise will fade to sunset and you’ll have only whispers and regrets.

Regret is funny that way, you know, its long-term and short-term realities. I wonder how many regrets you accumulate on any one, given day. Is it possible to regret the mundane … heaps of laundry, the remnants of a good meal, the pillows askew? Do you even notice and if you do, do you even care? Oscar Wilde may have said, “Man is made for something better than disturbing dirt”, but I like to believe he wouldn’t have disapproved of pooling the taffeta just-so from time to time.

Is this ego perhaps, teetering at the pinnacle of something far worse? This is your home and the life you created and nurtured and every day we swim together in the inspired, blue-green waters of the gulf, sunbeams pouring in on us from every direction. We do this together, or we don’t do it at all and I need you.

The time for childish things has passed, you must clean up your toys and tidy your ruffles, make yourself back into yourself without anger or frustration or tears. Just fix it. Fix it now. Find your gratitude and your sensibility. Unfold your arms, positioned for burial, and let them fall freely and fully alive by your sides. Place your hands, so sweetly, over your heart and find yourself in your own rhythm. Remember who you are. Remember who you are.

And so, without further row, this little tête-à-tête must be put to bed. I’m setting this mirror down and I’m walking back out into the sunlight. Don’t follow me or do, but if you choose to, do it with all your heart. Nothing less is acceptable.