Holding Off

I hold you at a distance, keeping my fortress walled and protected. Too many times I have let men swim the moat and gloat upon my shores. They have tried vainly to domesticate me, and I refuse to be tamed. We have struggled against one another like prisoners in chains.


My ex and I followed the rules of the game, buying up furniture and collecting debts like lint traps catching up fibers. When I think of our bedroom, it is with a mixed collection of hot wax and oil with tears, loneliness stirred in with silent wishes. Now it feels distant and hopeless, but then we talked like we could hold forever in our hands and never let go of it.

Though I have let you into my encampment, don’t expect a warm welcome with every step. Back then, I still believed in magic. I still thrilled at the thunder and lightning, the drama of the dance, but wondered at the cost of it. The sun shone too bright for my heart, which was clogged with gray. For four months, it rained, one storm after the next. Some storms came as inconsequential as a hovering mist, others raged and shook me.

The further you venture, the more I hoard my riches to myself. There are still secrets I have kept. I have not been untrue, but have only shared my surface self with you. I cried at the courthouse that morning. Divorce is a district of this city I never wanted to live in. I became a reluctant inhabitant. Until you have proven yourself, this truth is all I can offer you.