I Tore My Pants

Sundays and Stuff

I tore my pants and I blame her.

Technically I should take responsibility but I blame her for being so damn sexy and for making me lose track of where I was and what I was doing.


Sometimes I think I scare the hell out of her but I know she is not physically afraid of me and that she knows if anyone threatened her I would rip off their arms and break their legs.

Nah, the fear she feels is the same as me, that we won’t be together and that we will.

That fire burns so brightly and is all consuming and when we let it burn bright we get lost in each other.

It is an addiction that we crave and run from.


Except running away is never a real option because it is too fucking hard and too painful.

Doesn’t mean it can’t be done or that we haven’t tried but we have never been successful.

We could be.

We could wear fire retardant clothing and pour holy water on the flames and shrink them to a place or point where we could pretend not to feel.

Or look back and smile as if we were remembering a high school love.

Nostalgia would make a great dummy to hang it all upon. Nostalgia would be the scape goat we send to the desert in the hope it would help wash it all away.

But some day we would remember.


We have made love a million times and in a million different spaces and places. She has given herself to me in every way that can be done as I have for her and yet there are places we haven’t explored.

There are grassy meadows covered in Fall foliage and beaches with crystal clear water we have never explored.

And no one knows if we will or we won’t.

She has wrapped her arms around my neck and stared in my eyes but we have never danced to any music except that which we hear in our secret world.

Sometimes I am confident that first dance will happen and sometimes I am certain it never will.

The seesaw moves from side to side and then something reminds me that nothing here has been predictable and yet everything could have been forecasted with ease.

No one ever said it would be so very hard or so very easy.

If she let me I could carry her in my arms or upon my back for as long as necessary and I would never think twice of it.

Her hands fit inside mine and her body never feels strange wrapped around mine.

Sometimes we pretend otherwise but that is fear speaking and the funny thing is I fear almost nothing.


I tore my pants and I blame her.

That is ok, she blames me for many things too.

But mostly I blame us, usually with a smile.

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