The Month of _ _ _

It happened today.

Acknowledgement. 

That of loss. Of how the time is never the time you wish it to be. 

Steals the air from my lungs.

Squares me toe-to-toe with all these demons. 

This long road demands all I could hope to give. 

It is neither punishment, nor joy. Not peace or chaos. 

I am real.

This is even more real.

Will it ever be as it always has been. 

Hopeful, yet not expectant. Surprise. So much is ever a surprise. 

The lesson is in the leaving, they'd say. They are they are me. 

With me always are you. Shall you ever be. Be. BE. 

Here. 

There. 

Everywhere. 

Every day.

Every way.

Every May.

Be as it may. On to May.

...

THIS Memory.

This day I...

cut myself some slack.
felt honored by your presence.
awoke in peace.
hummed a tune.
prepared to work to the bone.
devised new cavities.
was my best friend.
set off an alarm.
provided comedic relief. 
took it one step at a time.
hoped for a refund.
walked this way.

lived.

Ships

“….I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself and if you find someone to love the YOU you love….well, that’s just fabulous.”

I am not Carrie Bradshaw. 

I will one day love myself as much as I love you.

You Mighta Been Right About that Wheelchair, Creep.

The brain is runRUNrunning away. From you. From me. To a mouse in a house. Some cowgirls like me go out like that: RUNning. And still here I am...just as I was then. A year or so ago. A year or more so. The more or the less I know not. The happy or sad I do not see. Drowning as I float on, ok.
    ok. OK. ok? Niente. Nunca. For it was not the heart that failed. Carries on and on it does, just ever so more faded and jaded. If failure needs a culprit, look no further. This world and all that I dream could be so. Blame is the name of this game and every player loses holdings for the bold things and old things.
It saves me as it betrays me.

A week away and the only comfort is not to be found. Not in the shower. Not in that cupcake. Not even in the deepest of deep heartwarming and breaking exchanges.

It will start and end as it always will be....with me. Trapped in this liberation, I have no choice save move. At a sprint.

eM

STAND. I must stand. With feet of my own and in no uncertain terms. Can’t want to want to want OR hope to hope to hope. In my heart of hearts and dream of dreams it can be nothing less than what it needs to be.

To me, an angel you will ever be. A teacher of my soul, a purveyor of the truth I so desperately sought. Taught me and brought me to the distraught me. Each moment do I discover a bit more confusing light and loss of the reality in which I once found so much comfort.

Have to be me as me and forever then shall I be. With or without me, life flows on and on and even more on. Will I catch that wave? To a destination of undetermined peace and untimely wisdom. To a place where I am in love with love and expectations be none. With the poetry that I know it to be. To be.

Free.

YES and Many, Many More Things

"Why worry?"

"Because it's one of the only things I'm good at."

"Nonsense, why do you say that?"

Haters might hate but I hate more. Hate that I hate that I hate...that I don't even hate. Perhaps I only despise that which I think I can no longer control....have never controlled.....shan't control. A free bird...free as a bird I dream to be. The free spirit you've always seen me to be. Wished I could see. 

Like that song about talking about me. Just me....sub in worries and more thoughts and fears, still. Round and round and soon to crack an axle.  Breaking the pedestal I've constructed. In you I find I must reject it. All of it, in fact. Different definitely isn't equal but neither is deprecation of self (eM). Thank you for all that YOU are. 

Each eleven of the twelve I shall tackle like never ever before. Flag football hardly polished the rudders and so here I find myself: exploring new territories, setting abstract goals, excited at the prospect of change. The change I never had to consciously contemplate before now. For it is this lack which has corrupted the potential and the present. Right now...with you...it is as sure as the sun. But me, in the orange chair, without a clue....as comforting as it is crippling. Tally heave and ho. 

I feel the hum in ears and head, even if only for a minute or five. Starting so very small with room for sitar lessons. No, actually the harmonica. "And life flows on within you and without you....."

With or without what I need I shall proceed. Into the farce. 

Bright Copper Kettles and Warm Woolen Mittens.

She is irritated. She is she is she is she is me. I am her. She is me. I sound just like her, they tell me. But I am NOT her. I am me. I carry her and her name around with me. Everyday. Every way. Hope to be as good, as smart, and maybe even happier. Justice for she. She died. She lived. Here she is. Now and then. Different but the same. Alive but dead. The light in her eyes, which once burned so vibrantly, is now reserved for fleeting moments on limited days. With her I am lost while found.....whole but fragmented...resolved but left wanting.

I am selfish, I think. Indeed, I am regularly reminded of such assertions through other assertions from people I have trusted since inception. Selfish with my thoughts, wishes, and dreams. The dreams she dreamed for me stretched as far as the eye can see. Now I dream of dreams, make peace with dreams, imagine new dreams. I am damaged. Devoid of instinct...of the confidence to say I know what I know what I know.

"Thank you," she says.
"For what?" I respond.
"For letting me breath," she tells me.

I move towards the bed where she lies and prop myself against the familiar headboard. Unaware of her own power she grasps my hand and and holds it between hers. As tears begin to stream down my cheek, I am as thankful as I am angry. Grateful for this moment of connection, of flashback, of awakening. Missing her even as she holds me. Upset that I am crippled by the past, unwilling to accept this future. Learning to accept what I thought I'd accepted. Parting with what I thought was departed.
He pities me. Slams doors at the very thought of what I think. Yells and pleads with confusion. With anger. Succeeds at deploring my processes, demanding me to question my methods...my very ways of being me and seeing me.
I am scared and fearful of not having the know how or courage to change. Changing the way I experience change. The most profound and affecting change of my life. She is me. I am she. We are we and forever shall we be. Together.