Cross My Line

Nothing has changed but something is different.

Sitting here tonight, house grown dark and minor child upstairs in bed, listening. Sounds from a piano played on CD, water running from the filter in the fish tank, and this little voice inside my head that talks and talks and talks.

Tonight she's berating me for being so weak. For not listening to her months ago when she said, "You know Stacey, you're not happy. You don't laugh anymore. You're positively miserable."

"But I know," she says. "You'd take him back right now if he called, if he had one kind word to say." And I can't say that she is wrong, because I know she's right.

And I can't help but wonder why I changed, why I would still risk myself for a change in me I didn't like. What about a man can make me so weak that I take less than what should be offered. Why am I a chameleon to the colors he tells me I should want to be.

I know I'm beating a dead horse. But it scares me that I give myself up so easily. Because I think that maybe the next time, I won't get myself back ... Maybe I just got lucky this time.