Lady In Waiting


I wait.

I watch.

I listen.

I practice my skills.

One step forward, two steps back?  Two steps forward, one step back?  Rollercoasters and cycles?  Truth or lies?  Recovery or deeper manipulation?  Change or merely moments of clarity in a sea of chaos?  Openness or more skilled secrecy?  Moving forward or killing time?  Addict speech or honesty?  Twisted thinking or healing brain?  Real connection or amazing deceit?  Hope or pain?  Life?  Pretense?  Wise child?  Fool?

Do I really think I would know the difference?

He feels cleaner.  Last Monday, his addictive self seemed to drip from his skin like toxic slime.  When he is a real person, he is handsome, and confident, and he feels cleaner to be around, soft and strong all at once.  When the demon addict rides his body, he feels filthy and toxic and becomes ugly and his eyes are hard pinpricks with that creepy feel to his stare.

Maybe I had to be broken down to open enough to see the difference.  To know.  To become conditioned by the pain to remember, to attend to the difference.  Maybe I will keep that knowledge, and keep myself safe, and cope.  Maybe I will listen with proper care to my dreams, and know the truth when he refuses to share it.  Maybe I will survive this, and grow without the hollow core of a lightning blasted oak.

I practice my skills. 

I listen.

I watch.

I wait.

Nothing lasts forever.

Not even forever?

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