Listen

The buzzing of the needle greeting my love's allowing skin.

I sit patiently waiting my turn in the tattoo parlour.  While I wait patiently, all I hear is dirty noise and echoes of the last 48 hours.  Moments, of my love expressing sadness and hurt at my honesty.

Honesty is supposed to be how we communicate.  Somehow, it stings and has us feeling attacked.  My dear love, feeling the weight of the honesty given to me in a moment of admitting a problem.

My last 2 days have been full of 'what if'?  Each one adds to my already anxious personality. 

: my love doesn't like the fear I've emitted?

: all of the pain we've endured together has been battled with strength, maybe not this one?

: maybe Papi is going to find less tolerance for me now that I've expressed my lack of tolerance for addiction?

There are more.  They are causing my poor heart to feel tight with holding back the fears.

Sometimes, people get mean in relationships.  There comes a point where the love leaves and the disrespect creeps in.  These are part of my biggest fears in every relationship I've been in.

They always come true.

I can't see my love being this way with me, but stranger things have happened.  I never expected my ex to rob me and make me homeless, and forcing me to shut down my business.  So yes, stranger things have happened.

Anything CAN happen in a relationship.  It's part of the deal we make when we enter.  We could have ever lasting love, or there could be hurt to one or both hearts.

I'm feeling very timid, as Papi could be coming off the codeine, making for a very agitated self.  I hear my love laughing with the artist, but that could change when the endorphins stop visiting and the ink has settled.

Listen.

I listen to many other victims of the needle, every one of them here for their dose of pain, to have their gain of exposing art.

I listen.

I listen to the tone of my love when we were driving here to get the tattoo.  Frustrated because I didn't understand which way Papi was telling me to drive.

I listen.

I listen to the silence that seems to be the partner to the awkward conversation that we make.

I take a lot in.  Am I imagining?  Or am I just being paranoid?  Is my anxiety winning?

My turn.  My pain is coming.  All I can hope for, is it only being the needle.

I can handle that pain.