Monday, January 24, 2011


And once upon it
The yellow bonnets
Garland all the line...

And it's over. And I'm back. And we're doing great. In a great place.


I don't believe in marriages. I've seen too many promises broken, too much hope poured deep down the drain in the sewers, where the rats feed on the little pieces of hope like governments feed on the fear of people, like old ladies feed on the pain of other peoples lives, like families feed on each other. And tear each other apart. What is the point? So we're bound together by that invisible string of commitment? Or that we can live under those vows of love? Those vows that are forgotten once the honeymoon is over. Blown away as dust. Cease to exist. Stop living. Expire. Suffocate.

And yet the jingling of church bells, the happy tears of parents, the bright smile of the couple, and the swishing of expensive silk against lace always makes me turn my head and wonder what it would feel like to live the dream. The dream that I grew up wondering about, like every other girl. When would I wear the diamond ring on my finger, when would I hear the bells jingling, when would I sign the marriage papers, when would I wear that silk, that lace? That dream that little girls start planning for when we run out of dolls to play with, when all their body parts have been twisted off, when all the hair has been shaved off their heads.
And one girl always learns the dream is a nightmare, except in pretty colors. A nightmare decorated with pink, white, glitter, and cherries on top. One out of us learns that you could cut through the marriage lie with a rusted knife, and the truth would come out gleaming from the other side. The truth, always so pretty until you dare to touch it. Like a bubble that you just have to touch and which has to pop, the truth that you will end up putting a finger on will spew all its black ink out to your finger and curl up your body and consume you.
Like marriage. Like all that commitment. Like love.

Play the piano, walk down the altar, kiss goodbye to the old life, kiss be man and wife, rush out, throw roses in the air. And cry forever. Say goodbye to the old life.
And yet, I won't live the dream I dreamed of as a little girl. Like every little girl.
I just don't. Believe. Anymore.