Haunt

 I keep listening to slow haunt of Daughter in the cold rain. Melancholy is at my door. Maybe it's the enneagram 4 in me.
 When I left you I prayed it wouldn't get cold this winter. I guess God prolonged it as long as He could. It's grieving season. I swear, I thought I'd "won" the breakup (despite your haircut and the fact that that you're doing comedy again). I took shots in an airport with a gorgeous guy from Colorado, travelled all the way to New York City, took a glass blowing class, reached my goal of running a full 5K without stopping, and got a promotion...
 But I didn't get you.
 All breakups suck and I get that. But I think even Neptune misses you (and Neptune hates everyone). Bee is seeing someone. Having a guy around the house makes me miss the way you'd scoop me up in your arms when you would walk in the door. I miss breathing you in.
 I wore my long white dress to work yesterday. I bought it for you. The first time I wore it you said you loved the freckles on my chest and you wanted to curl up there and stay burrowed in my neck forever. I wish you were better at keeping your word. My skin hurts without your hands on me. My toes curl in the night and search for your feet but they are not there. I can imagine the mistakes you're making in the wreckage. Your toes are probably beneath some one-night-stand who will never memorize all the songs of your favorite band like I did.
But I guess you always belonged to someone else. I couldn't fight the supernatural oneness of your last marriage and the forcefield of baggage I was up against. I tried to scale your mountains every day. I lost leverage. I wasn't enough.
 I get it, I get it.
 I am not enough.
 I wish you had loved me as much as you missed her. I know I was twelve years younger, had never been a mother, and was clueless about Legos, beetles, and sharks. But I would have learned. I would have bought the books. I would have sat in the library and watched Discovery Channel specials and ate Cici's Pizza every night for the rest of my life if it meant I could have had you.
 Daughter always talks about taking from someone even into their spine. I think you took from me on a cellular level. My energy was all for naught.
 But "Oh...Lord, I'm sorry if I smothered you. I sometimes wish I'd stayed inside my mother. Never to come out."
You know, I wasn't even crazy. We never fought. I never yelled. We always laughed. I went through our texts last week just to make sure. Right before you slipped into a coma you were talking about how much you longed to be my husband. I told you I hoped we could have a daughter someday together and name her Phoenix. Because Phoenixes always rise from the ashes. And I knew that whatever we built together would be regenerative and indestructible.

And then you quit.
You quit me.
For her.
I couldn't pull you out.
You stopped breathing and I couldn't resuscitate you.
I made every excuse in the book for why you hadn't called in two weeks.
Down to "Maybe he just forgot he has a girlfriend."

You left me.

I used to believe I was watercolor...expendable.

But now I think I'm transparent entirely.