when i saw the trumpeter blow / the horn, my jericho heart came down, / moved from flesh to fluid.
Dez is not a morning person. I remind myself of the fact when I feel the urge to ruffle his hair. His snapping turtle role isn’t worth a few moments of happiness. In the end, it’s my feelings that’ll be hurt and Dez who won’t remember what he said, halfheartedly apologizing in his boxers over coffee before I go to work.
It's Saturday morning here in the Merlin house. My sisters are watching cartoons, my dog is playing with the family's German shepherd, and I'm drinking a cup of coffee I didn't have to pay for. Living here is easy and familiar.
I've been here two full days now. My whole life burnt down to the studs and, almost surprisingly, I'm still here. I did not cease to exist. Am I happy?
Tomorrow morning my father is going to rescue his 23-year-old daughter, something I'm not sure either of us saw ever happening.
On Saturday my five-year relationship ended rather abruptly. It hurt. It still hurts. I hate that person as much as I love them. And yet, despite those feelings, I want him to do well. I want him to succeed. I want him to find himself. But where does that leave me?