on death and temporary sadness
I remember sitting across the table from a long-haired boy in 7th grade science class and sneaking glances at him scribbling in his sketchbook. He was my first exposure to a true artist, with the need to create nestled deep inside his bones, pencil always moving in his fingers. This morning, I woke up to the tragic news of his death- he grew tired of life’s disappointments and took a voluntary early leave. I watch the world quake beneath his exit, witness friends and family crumble. You’re more important than you might think, remember that.
I remember meeting her for the first time at dinner with a permanent albeit nervous smile on my face as she asked question after question and my boyfriend set his hand on my knee beneath the table encouragingly. Earlier this week, I cried into his shoulder when he got the phone call about her passing, even though I should have been comforting him. I cried for his loss and deep sadness, for her future absence and for my own inability to keep it together.
Meanwhile, I’ve been moaning and groaning about every little disappointment, every bleary-eyed morning, every bad attitude I’ve encountered. There’s no reason to feel this hopeless- my loved ones are well and the future is calling and everything’s going to be okay. Take a deep breath. You’re well on your way.
This year, I’m thankful for the unconditional love that surrounds me and the peace of mind to move forward in difficult times. I’m thankful for the health and happiness of those I love and care about and for the moments that made me breathe a little lighter. This year was hard, but it’s getting better all the time. Happy Thanksgiving, don’t ever forget to be grateful.
reinventing a never-ending love
you know the dream. it’s the one where you leave your things
behind and move to a big city. it’s the one you have three times
every week. it’s the one you wake up from feeling lighter. on
the other side of the bed, his back cracks like a broken promise
and you hear it so loud in the darkness, like nothing else exists
but you and him and the way you want to mend his every small
bruise, his every tiny cut, his every solitary tear. you feel yourself
growing older and more tired and opportunities are slipping away,
but in the middle of the night, when you wake up frightened, he
wraps his arms around you and you remember how to breathe.
"In memory, everything seems to happen to music."
— Tennessee Williams