A Ball of String

         The door closes behind him. A deep sigh takes in the calming, cold night's air. Out comes a thin cloud of disbelief. The silence is so welcomed. The first few steps bring back the tension of what just occurred. The anger and frustration of not being able to find each other inside the verbal storm. Why can't it be more simple? There's reasons it can't be, and almost all of them are worth the war.
         Each step leads further away from the fight, but it brings him closer to loneliness. Flipping between speaking out loud and inside his head, he looks to see if she's following him. She isn't. This creates brief conflict for him. Being chased means you're worth it, but when you demand to be left alone and your wishes are granted, that also means you are enough. This creates the thought that builds like a snowball rolling downhill; what if all of this isn't her, but me? Reacting to this cancerous idea with dismissal, he turns the corner and continues on the lonely journey.
         It wasn't always like this, and that's what makes it all the much harder. Good days stacked upon better days followed by amazing days. The intoxicating effects of falling in love, growing together, building a life, and beating the odds was their cement. Their love and life has been a jumble of luck, skill, effort, and the ability to weather the difficult times. The blocks have been stacked into a castle filled with love, life, laughter, and loneliness. Gripping, swallowing loneliness. Distraction has always been the drug of choice to quell that pain. The closeness of their skin at every opportunity. Even today that yearning to connect physically persists.
         But with all things, its the excitement of building and creating that is the hook, but never the maintenance. The daily grind of repetition. Being weighed down by the responsibilities of it all. Never mind the growing apart and lack of communication. Ignore the fact that each has very different ideas of what is a good life and what would make it a great one. Forget that what was dreamed of has been achieved, mostly. Its all erasable. There can be as many ripples in the water as possible, but it will calm eventually.
         The phone has buzzed five times. Some buzzes were stacked and just count as one, because they were text after text after text. She's angry, maybe hurt, and does not like the necessary pause. She will not allow for the peace and quiet of the night to wash over him if it can be helped. Power off, and with this small victory, a half-grin. Her way is to control the tempo, the flow, and to cast doubt on his thoughts. Psychological warfare that was covert for decades. He sees it now, but moreso feels it now. When attacked he defends, and then is harped about being defensive. He builds rage as she temps the eruption, then scoffs at her role. Its this gross distortion that drives his unfocused journey into solitude.
         Shaking his head to clear it, he refocuses on this chronic condition. Why does it have to be her way or oblivion? Why does she get to make the rules and enforce them? At what point is he supposed to draw a line that will never be acknowledged? Does he really give a shit if it all blows up with everyone inside? Are the threats of lies really enough to destroy any other home he tries to build? This fucking woman has his balls, and they may never be his again even when she lets them go. The questions stack, build, heap and tumble without any acceptable answers. Shakes his head again, increases his pace, looks back to see if she's there, and swallows the angst.
         His mistakes have to be acknowledged. The financial burden of life is shared without division and requires mutual respect and trust. That trust was broken because his ability to be moderately responsible was grossly under-developed. Immature. He admits to this personality flaw, and wears it as a badge of honor as a representation of who he is. Arguably another mistake. The work put into changing this habit is extensive, tedious, boring, and worthwhile. Those life skills they teach in secondary school do have teeth. Another frequent topic given a spotlight of shame is his issues with substance abuse. Ever since substances were discovered by his internal chemistry, they've had an influence. All of that was retired quickly after their union. Alcohol still came to visit from time to time, but not in a manner inconsistent with functionality, at least for a long time. It crept into the cracks that were unnoticed and began to blanket the shivering pain. It soothed the ache while fueling the deepening depression. And then one day it had to stop, albeit by her demand. This demand couldn't be ignored because it was far too rational. The thing that he cannot shake is that the reason for its use was never explored, recognized, credited, or even slightly tolerated. The line she drew was deep, wide, permanent.
         The wind dances with the trees, dipping the branches and then picking them back up, pulling leaves off and casting them into the void that is our world. He feels sudden sadness, pain. His eyes tear and his breath quickens. He's being washed with guilt for the millionth time today, this week, this month, this lifetime. How do you deal with the problem when you are the problem? He's known his shortcomings ever since the beginning and made quite sure to create circumventing paths to avoid them at all costs. But he is creative, and continues to amaze himself and her with how elegantly he can fuck things up. He cannot escape who he is, and its damaging to the psyche when one realizes that they cannot be who they need to be.
         Now he realizes that he didn't leave the house to get away from her, but to get away from himself. His tail flexes in between his legs and stays there. His shoulders slump down, roll forward, and become heavy and cumbersome. He eyes glaze over a bit, staring past the ground and further into the abyss. His gait slows, begins to meander and sway as the weight of what happened begins to settle onto him and him alone. He finds himself turning back towards the home he left not long ago. His walk out the front door was in search of something that he couldn't recall, but when he saw the home again, he knew what he needed was there all along - forgiveness.