3. Eyes looking through windows, hoping to see something new.
4. Chest constricting with each clumsy movement.
These new modes of sadness touch the core and come in undulating waves in the darkened sea reflecting the black sky. The stars hide, unprepared for viewing and guiding lost mariners at sea. My new modes of sadness trouble me quietly, and I am stuck beneath a continuously crashing wave.
Sometimes it’s about taking that step back when it all seems so fast and perhaps it’s about refusing to move forward when there’s ill-will on the road. Yet many times I find myself in a saddened stupor and how do I get out? And at times when all looks to be white roses it’s truly bones and snow and something must budge before the road gets trampled with escape.
You had your drink and I had my things and together it made for turmoil. I was so tired and you full of desire that there was little left to show. Some god must have known how to have thrown in the towel as we sat patiently waiting. Then life caught up and anger welled as we were fraught with tension.
There were little things to hate here and there, yet nothing could equate to the frustrating fares of this life. I only remember hating the drinks and you being done with my things until the next morning.
When the tree gets it’s limbs cut off, it grows new ones in different places. That tells you two things: 1) it continued to grow after facing adversity and 2) it learned from the experience enough to grow in new ways.
At times there’s pain—an unheard cry for help or heard, but not understood. Sometimes it’s a winding path that takes you in loops until it’s as if there’s not beginning and no end. The air is thinning, through time the world takes you spinning in a dizzying carousel.
Your crippling depression brings all of those around you to their knees and so you’ve turned to holding the whip of superficiality and now that’s all that you live for. You know this is about you and yet you pretend to misunderstand and you believe yourself above the clouds, immaculate because of your strife. In your eyes, you were dealt a lot in life that should have never been dealt to you and sure, you’ve been kind… to those outside of your circle—those who are appeased like fickle gods by vanity. I hope you know that you were needed, but somehow those that needed you earned a lesser value than those that emotionally obscured you, emotionally abused you. I also needed you once, but now I realize that I don’t need much at all and I guess I’ll keep living my life because I cannot stand to wait for your affection. Perhaps we’ll never form a deep connection and on our deathbeds will lie unfinished business, but I guess that’s the price to pay for broken families.
I guess I’ll write to see if I can evoke the thoughts within my heavy head and chest. I guess I’ll see if the world isn’t too dark to face in this tired state of mind. My love is heavy and my eyes are hot and damn it’s hard when the past is dredged up. It’s one of those moments where everything triggers and I just want to move to Portugal. But fuck I learned to love and now I’m scared of what is coming around. I don’t really pray but if I did I’d ask for another day, another dollar but only if I keep the same lover and if he’d know what it’s like to be sad that it wouldn’t be penetrating deep like it does to my core. Will tomorrow be a Brand New day that I can face as I open my windows to let in the sky and a mosquito or too? I guess I’d pray for forgiveness for all of the times that I wasn’t enough and that I decided to give up instead of move onwards into the day that tomorrow could be. It’s a pandemic, really, the way things end up with slight infection catching on and infesting the tendrils leading to the veins coming out of your heart (is that right?). It hurts me to hurt you but fuck am I sad sitting on my bathroom floor under the burning water. Maybe I’ll feel something.
It was the first day of limited conversation and prophetic longing. The first day at the bed laying in emptiness and hidden worlds of turmoil. It was the 21st day of the year that felt like the last paragraph at the end of a book’s chapter that released its reader on a sad note. It was cold in this room, an iciness in the Florida weather and my daughters of the moon kept their own company. But you see, here I lay thinking of my days and heart shrinking.
There is strength in knowing that you’ve traveled far and true in the realms of what it means to be a human in hurt. There’s a certain relief at the resignation of knowing that the Earth will continue to orbit around a sun that has yet to burn out for eons to come. There is purity in knowing that the wind can quell your sorrows and place your anxieties to sleep if you give it that power. There is a cleansing in cold rain drenching your clothes in a downpour if you lend your muscles to the power of nature so that they may relax. No matter what tribulations you journey through remember that your heart is still beating with the hum of the Earth and your breath inundates your lungs like a transparent and active ocean.