Oh, Shut Up!

Wronged Objects

I know I keep walking out of the room every time you try to talk.  Sometimes the sound of the voices coming from you just makes me sad.  The constant reminders of things from the past, being brought up without any warning, almost like you know how to upset me.  Some mornings I sit a listen and the outpouring of information is calming, yet I’m waiting for the storm to brew.  Taking us back into the same conversation, a never ending loop of “”How do we move forward?”; there are days when I can’t even be in the room with you.

Who you were in my better days filled the house with laughter, joy, and occasionally I learned something I didn’t know from the oddest of stories.  Car Talk, Wait/Wait Don’t Tell Me, Elliot in the Morning; they were all the friends you introduced me to.  You told me of the passing of people, some famous, others infamous.  Listening to you prattle on while I was baking food for family and friends, scaring the dog when your voice boomed and shook the windows, playing Scrabble while curled up with Whitney rubbing her belly as our daughter grew.  The endless supply of notes floating around the house.

I’m sorry that lately I can’t be around you.  I never know what you are going to say.  Never know if the next words are going to hurt or make me laugh.  The bi-polar nature our relationship has become has me scared, confused what to do.  So I have limited what we talk about.  Pre-recorded conversations that I know how they will play out, no surprises as I walk around the corner.

My poor stereo used to get played for hours, any type of music would come forth at any point in the day.  Weekends now are silent unless I put a specific album on that doesn’t dig into my emotions.  Hopefully there will be some point where I will listen to everything again and not worry about the topic, the music, or the memories.  But right now my stereo lays in wait, like a dog at the door, hoping its master will let it run wold in the yard.


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