roguewandering:

lizbethlost:

redcatinsanfrancisco:

I once heard a story about a woman who had a couch she absolutely hated in her living room. But she didn’t
want to throw it out until she had a replacement, so she kept it, and continued to hate it. That is until one friend came along and told her to just get rid of
it. Live with the emptiness for a while… Create space for something
better or something better will never come.

15
months ago I met a very tall man in a crowded bar. He offered to buy me a
drink. I declined. He offered again, a whiskey shot this time. “Oh no no,
whiskey shots are dangerous,” I said through a laugh, taking the full length of
him in. “Well what about tequila?” “Okay… one.” He nodded to the bartender.
“Two tequila shots and two whiskey shots.” He turned back to me and smiled. Trouble,
I thought. Trouble.

I fell in love with him on a cold Tuesday night. It happened when we babysat his niece; his arm was wrapped
around my leg and every so often we would look up at the baby monitor to see this
wiggly 5 month old moving on grainy video. It’s the silly small things we fall
in love with, I’m sure of it. The face he makes when doing his hair in the
mirror, how he always compulsively straightens the silver wear on the table
when out to dinner, and the way he uses silence to emote like no one else I’ve
ever met. His mouth guard, his cologne, his rather complicated perception of
our world, all of it, I loved every part of him.

Last year I was interning at the rehab facility and in between
running groups and seeing clients, Ken and I would eat cereal and gossip about
our lives. He was on the cusp of moving in with his boyfriend and I was in
emotional limbo with this man. Ken didn’t like this one bit. He saw this man’s
ambivalence towards life, to me. Ken held my hand one day, looked me in the eye
and spoke slowly…

You’re
going down with the ship, honey.

…

This past Christmas I was in Canada visiting my family and due
to various circumstances I ended up having my parents’ master bedroom all to
myself. Their bed is enormous so I carved out a slice just for me… I put the
heating blanket on high, curled up, and breathed in my Mom’s scent from her
pillow. And I called him, my boyfriend, from the house phone.

His sister was buying a house, he told me, and it led to us talking
about what he saw for himself. A house? Which city? And so I listened. To the
various places he still thought he might move to, the higher education degrees
he wanted to attain, and the band he wanted to start. I listened to him talk about
his job, and which different field might make him happiest. And then it hit me.
In that enormous bed, in that freezing city surrounded by iced over prairies, he hadn’t mentioned me once.

You’re
going down with the ship, honey.

It is with strange clarity and
foreign certainty that I knew this relationship was meant to end. Is it weird
that I feel lighter? Light. After leaving for the summer he returned in August.
And I realize now that me trying so hard to make it work and loving him so
deeply this past Fall was truly, rather poetically, the process of me letting
him go. The rate at which I finally surrendered, and dropped it like a heavy chest
filled with useless tools, was rapid. And here we are.

Create
the space for something better or something better will never come.

…

A month ago a man started
using phrases like “when can I see you again?” and “you’re
absolutely incredible” and “wait, tell me more about that.” He
offered to make dinner and I walked into sweet potatoes already baking,
prewashed kale being taken out of plastic bags and French music, then Italian
music filling up the apartment. It was warm and welcoming and man his ass looks fucking great in those
jeans I thought to myself as I leaned up against the countertop… legs
lengthened and bent at the knee, eyes like saucers at the scene in front of me.
Stand up straight for once, Cat. I handed
over the bottle of wine I brought. Allowed myself to be kissed. On the
lips. On the cheek. On the forehead. “You’re kinda cautious aren’t you, ” he
says sweetly, not in question form. It’s too soon, too soon, I tell myself and
anyone else who’ll listen. I expect to hear doubt in my girlfriends’ voices but
all I see is nodding and all I hear is a resounding “yes!”

He tries to dance with you and the moment is so painfully delicious that you fear
you can’t do it. But you close your eyes and tell yourself you deserve this, to
be treated with care and softness, because when someone this warm grabs your
lower back, smells the nape of your neck, and begins to sway with you in the
middle of the kitchen… you allow
yourself to rock back and forth with him.

Reblogging for this…

“Create space for something better or something better will never come.”

This speaks to me today.

This applies not only to relationships which no longer serve you

But also anything that no longer serves you.

“Create space for something better or something better will never come.”

Exactly what I’m trying to do.

I don’t think it can be said enough:

“Create space for something better or something better will NEVER come.”

I’m working on it, universe, I’m working on it.