Welcome Back, Jenn!

 

Guess who’s back, back again?

After a very long (and what I would now describe as much needed) hiatus, I am back on the word train. Not that I ever really left, not really, because you can never really take the “writer” out of a writer, but it certainly wasn’t on my radar for a while. Hence, the hiatus. In any case, I’m back.

To be fair, this past while has been busy. I met the actual love of my life last year and a few months ago, after just over a year of dating, we bought our first home together. He’s wonderful. No, like actually amazing. You know that saying that goes something along the lines of, “find the one who makes you realize why it didn’t work out with anyone else”? Yeah. I did that :) He’s a firefighter, and he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever dated. He’s kind and thoughtful and loving and so so sooooo handsome!! I’ve never been so happy!

So we bought this house, and since we didn’t want to stop there, we decided to add to our family and are now the proud fur-parents of one (1) Tobias Anthony Waffles, esq.

Mr. Waffles

Toby’s first day at his new home.

We’d gotten him from the local shelter, and even though we’d gone in with the idea of possibly getting an older adult cat, when Toby showed up and stole the show, we both knew he had to come home with us. Which he did, and promptly proceeded to steal our hearts. Which is kind of funny, considering both Tyler and I am allergic to cats. <shrugs shoulders>

So Cute

Helping me write this blog entry. I’m glad he was there for tech support.

One of the biggest reasons I’ve ever wanted to buy a house is so that I could build myself a reading room. I’d been talking about it for ages. (If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who’s known me the last 15 years, lol). So when we decided on this house, I immediately started thinking about what colour I would paint, what kind of vibe I would have, and of course, how many bookshelves I could cram into it. (Currently that number is 2. Obviously this will change with time and funding.)

That’s where I am right now, in fact. I’d previously implemented a “no electronics allowed” rule for this room, as it also doubles as a meditation space, but I find that creatively speaking, this room has good “chi” and I don’t want to ignore that fact. So, here I am, breaking my own rules. The badass that I am.

Ultimately, I really just wanted to sit down and tap out some words onto a screen. It’s a nice change from binge watching Grey’s Anatomy and already I feel better about doing it. As much as I want to say I will post more regularly, I also know myself pretty well and I know that for me, that’s probably not going to happen. You know what does happen? Life. Interruptions. Unforeseen events that can leave you exhausted emotionally and physically… which is the topic for another day’s post. But I’m here today, right now, and that’s a win in my books.

So I will leave you with this adorable picture of Toby wearing his Rider Pride gear in support of his favourite football team. I’m still on the lookout for a little bow tie for him to wear on special occasions, but alas, there are none to be found in this city! (sad face)

Thank you to everyone who still reads my (sporadic) posts and who continue to be my support in doing what I love to do. You guys rock!

Until next time… xoxo

Go Riders

Cheering is tiring work.

 

 

 


Goodbye, Little Leaf

For Cheryl- Thank you for reminding me. Much love. 

 

I’m letting go.

It’s hard to do, but for my own self interest, I’m doing it.

Throughout my life there’s been all sorts of people and experiences of which I’ve had to learn to gracefully let go, to bind the emotion to a fallen leaf, set it afloat in a babbling brook, and watch it float away into the great beyond.

It’s tricky, this business of moving on.

Regardless of what it is you’re trying to overcome, the past has a way of sneaking up behind you and climbing back up onto your shoulders, poised perfectly to whisper in your ear all the doubts you’ve been trying to put to bed. It hisses the ‘what ifs’ you haven’t yet thought of and snickers as you romanticize what has already been, even if what has already been was actually not all that great in the first place.

I think it’s the clarity of all the good that we have today that makes moving on from the past possible. Being truly grateful for the wonderful people and things surrounding you makes it easier to let the things go that you have no business hanging onto. Maybe it’s the touch of a significant other. Or the smile on your child’s face. Or a random act of kindness from a stranger on the street. Good is all around us, if only we open our eyes to see it.

Sometimes letting go isn’t just about moving past something. It’s about acceptance that what has been was meant for you at the time, and what is now is meant for you now. It’s being grateful for the past and all the lessons it brought with it. It’s looking in your own backyard and seeing that the grass across the fence in fact is not greener than your own. It’s knowing that clarity is a place that moves towards you, and sometimes you have to move towards it. It’s knowing that progress is never stationary, but it is also a force that cannot be stopped.

My progress has sometimes moved at lightning speed. In other cases it’s taken its time. But regardless of how swiftly or gently the brook is flowing, I know I will see that little leaf float ever away.

It’s a good feeling.


Untitled

freebird

Maybe she was the one who broke him.

Maybe she was the one who had cast a spell over him strong enough to keep him broken for the remainder of his life without her. When she left, she packed up all her stuff, and some of his, too, and walked out the door, but left memories behind to stay up with him all night long and through drawn out, painful days. When she walked all over him and made him do the things he didn’t particularly want to but did because she wanted him to, she dug her fingernails into his soul, and the scratch marks remain as scar tissue for the next girl to see when he takes his shirt off in front of her. ‘How did you get those scars?’ she’ll ask him, and he’ll turn away and say he doesn’t want to talk about it because it still hurts too much.

When she decided to turn his world upside down and make a car wreck of their relationship and his heart, she walked away with her heart intact because there wasn’t much there to break to begin with. He will have had sleepless nights and tear stained pillowcases though, and if he did sleep, he would wake up with stomachaches and headaches and it would have all stemmed from his heartache.

It was as though his heart shattered from the sound of the slamming door when she walked out of his life. He would have gone out with his buddies, and heard the stories about how he was too good for her anyway and about how they never really liked her because she was bossy and couldn’t stand the fact that his band practiced every Thursday night and she had no hobbies of her own except him. Sometimes he felt as though she was trying to change him, but always disregarded it as an ‘adjustment period’ in their relationship and never bothered arguing it, even when he realized that 4 years had gone by and he was no longer the same happy guy he used to be, but just a shell of that man.

But still he longs for those days when she’s gone.

But alas, a solution presents itself. No one will have a chance to hurt him again now, because of the wall that he’s built up around his heart. No one will be let in, and she will never be let out. ‘It’s the way things ought to be,’ he’ll tell himself, all the while trying to convince himself of that very thing. When the next girl comes along, he will be shut off emotionally, already tired mentally. She will ask him questions about his life and he will be vague and standoffish because no one will break down his wall. He will go days without talking to her because he doesn’t want a relationship, and if she texts him, he won’t answer because she will not be permitted to get close enough to know him. He’s designed it so that the wall is un-scalable, insurmountable, and best of all, impenetrable. She will lose interest and call him ‘damaged’ and tell her girlfriends that he is too big a project for her to try and fix. He will continue in life thinking that he is unlovable and unworthy of affection because of the residual echo of the voice in his head telling him he isn’t good enough.

It’s true that she broke him.

But I see him for who and what he is. I see the passion behind those beautiful eyes. I see the love that is hurling itself against the inside of the wall, begging to be let out. I see the man so deserving of affection, the man who is stronger than his past and braver than his future.

So sure, maybe it was her that broke him.

But maybe I will be the one to break the wall.

 

 


C. McHappyPants: Day 2

I woke up this morning from what I could easily describe as the best sleep of my life. It was glorious. Like, the stuff love songs and kittens and happiness are made of.

The Captain was not yet present upon my arrival. In fact, her presence was something of a surprise to me as I was not expecting to see her today. Blindsided, I made a mental note to myself to check if she has any training in covert missions like a ninja brotherhood or the black ops or something. I mean, it’s not totally unrealistic to assume the possibility. She’d be a tough nut to crack under enemy interrogation,  I’m sure. I will keep you posted on my findings.

McHappyPants turned out to be rather chatty today, albeit not towards me. Towards me, all that she can humanly muster up is a mumbled grunt- as what I can only assume- was an answer to my “good morning”. Truth be told, I was surprised even at that. Maybe I’m cracking the tough outer shell to find a creamy sweet chocolaty centre of lovliness surrounded by rich delicious nugaty personality. Maybe my persistent friendliness is wearing her down, like an abrasive sandpaper on a delicate wood fence. I’m like a Friendship Gnat, buzzing around her face, imposing my companionship upon her. Swat away, Captain McHappyPants! I can dodge, dip, duck, dive, and dodge my way into your heart no matter what you do!

I suppose that’s all the report I have at present. Although she did almost smile sometime around 2pm. We’ll call it a near miss. I’ll file the appropriate forms later.


Captain McHappyPants: An Introduction

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Is that happiness in your pantaloons or are you just glad to see me?

For someone with a name like Captain McHappyPants, you’d think her smile would be slightly more… uh… visible? I wonder sometimes though; Maybe she’s incapable of being pleasant.  Like, maybe she has a grumpy disease or something. Crankesitis… an inflammation of the Cranky.  Maybe she’s on a wait list for a grumpectomy. Or a frownoplasty.

But perhaps I am being insensitive. Maybe she’s just bored. I’ll try and strike up a conversation. I’ll mention the free food down the hall. That’ll work for sure. Because, well… free food. Kinda hard to be miserable when someone is volunfeeding you, right?

OK, so turns out free food isn’t the answer. In fact, I’m afraid she now hates me due to my efforts of commraderie. My deductive diagnosis: Incapability Of Happiness. There’s no other solution. 

In my flabbergastation, I have decided to log my encounters with Captain McHappyPants. I shall document this rare and most unpleasant disease of IOH. My findings shall be accurately and chronologically sound. Wish me well in my new found endeavour, my friends. These waters are shark infested to be sure, even though the idea of sharks are cool and far more enjoyable/desireable to be around than C. McHappyPants.

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Still Not Drowning

halpkitteh

They say that you are only afraid of losing something when you know what you have to lose. I assume this is true because right now I am afraid.

Realistically, I know this is just anxiety’s ugly mug peeking through the shadows again and it will pass. I know that by the time the suns rises on the new day tomorrow, things will have calmed down in my head and I will have my confidence restored. Oh, but that’s not right now and right now I feel like I could cry and be sick and laugh and run a marathon** all at the same time.

But in saying this, I’ve realized that I do have a lot to lose. Maybe not “things” in the monetary sense- the value of stuff in this world I have learned to be among the least valuable in the big picture- but the people! Ah, yes the people. I have a great many of those which I am unwilling to part with.

Do allow me to explain this particular materialization of thought…

I had a wonderful evening tonight. It was filled with the creativity of other people (one of the perks of living where I am right now) and as I walked home, I felt the spark of inspiration tugging at my fingertips. I arrived home (or, as “home” as a hostel can be) and set up my laptop for the inevitable writing session. Being technologically impatient as I am, while I waited for the power to boot up, I hopped on Facebook for the interim on my mobile phone. First thing I see? A picture of my ex-boyfriend’s* ex-fiancée. A woman who, although I am reassured was completely wrong for him, I still cannot help but feel the pang of cold jealousy for all the years she had with him. I’m trying to find ugliness about her (hey I’m not fooling anyone here- I’m a chick. Chicks stack ourselves up to other chicks and compare, compare, compare and alas- albeit sadly- I am no different). But try as I might, I can’t honestly say that she is. Dammit. She’s actually pretty freaking beautiful. And that makes it even worse.

Now, am I worried about losing him to her? No. I’m genuinely not. Hell, she’s married now, even. To a different man! So what is my problem? It’s not like I think there are residual feelings there, because I know there’s not. But at the same time, they have a history, and it’s a pretty deep one too, having been engaged and all.

But then logic, who always seems to be “that guy” who shows up to the party late (and sometimes already drunk) kicks in and proverbially smacks me in the temple, shouting at me that it doesn’t &*$%^ing matter, IT DOESN‘T &*$%^ING MATTER!! It doesn’t matter what they had, because that’s just it- it’s what they had– and that she wasn’t right for him, and that’s where their story ends. So what gives, brain? Why is the past so palpable to me?

Well, buttercup, it’s because I know what I have to lose…
(Again.)

But you know something? Some time ago, something went ‘click’ in my brain and I see that it’s not her that I’m concerned about, or others like her, or even anyone in particular. It’s everything. And it’s a weird concept. But I am terrified to lose what I know in my heart and soul that I never ever want to lose. And I think it stems from being through the bad weather, the storms and the chaos, and coming out the other side, maybe scathed to a degree, but still going. But the point is, is that I went through it. Not around. Not over or stealthily underneath it. Nope. Head on, set-the-controls-for-the-heart-of-the-sun, come hell or high water, through it. And I remember the pain of such an endeavour. The unpleasantness of it. Losing the people I hold dear to me- again, in some cases- would pass me straight through that storm again.

And who in their right mind would want that?

At the end of the day, I reiterate the fact that I know this brain cloud will float on by, melted away by the light of a fresh new Nelsonian day. I know that I will talk to him* tomorrow and he will say something that melts my heart and/or make me laugh, and/or makes happy tears leak out of my face. And I will put the phone down with a smile on my face and excitement in my body’s vibration and all will be right in the world. And I will have gained another weapon in my arsenal of things with which to defuse future anxiety. Score, man.

But there will be a next time.

And so, I will close in saying this: I’ve spoken of my anxiety on this blog in the past. And I have come a long way in the time since posting it originally. But it’s still there. And I suppose that’s what makes life, life, isn’t it? It’s not designed to be done easily. Yet here we all are- damaged, broken, fixed, re-broken, tired, ragged, and worn, but we are here.

And that’s gotta count for something, right?

 

 
*although technically still an “ex”, but one with whom I have been talking to an awful lot lately, and not in the “awful” kind of way. I guess it’s a “we’ll see where this goes but damn, it’s looking good” thing. Feel free to cross your fingers for the cause.

**a short one. Like a couple of blocks, max. Which I supposed isn’t a marathon, but considering I do not “do” marathons, it’s a good basis in which to compare. You know what? Just imagine I run marathons regularly. Yes. It’s better that way.

 

 


The First Week

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Author’s Note: This entry was written long before it was ever posted. Sometimes, just as a wound needs time to heal, so does the written word. Not much has been changed since I originally wrote this because it was everything I was feeling at the time. And truth is what this is all about, after all…

 

A little while ago, I wrote an entry called “Above All Else I Believe In Love”.  In it I spoke of the golden-winged side of love, about the joys of it and  how it overcomes all obstacles. How it enriches and makes life colourful and vibrant. I had no idea that only days later I would be single again.

The end came on a Saturday afternoon and there was something in me that knew it was coming. Call it a “gut feeling” or “woman’s intuition” or whatever you want, but it was there when I woke up and it proved me right hours later.

Truth be told, I don’t know if he will ever read this. I suppose it’s my hope that he does, but in this life there are really never any guarantees.  If he is reading this, however, please know that this is entirely written for you…

My heart is broken. It’s shattered beyond what mere words could ever paint. When I found you, I had no idea what I was in for. I didn’t know that in you, I would have found more kindness, more comfort, and more love than I had imagined the man I would fall for could ever even hold. In you I found a best friend, one who could sit next to me and count the hours go by in front of a Nintendo game or a Netflix series. I found the man who I could laugh with, talk to, confide in, and vent to, and who I could be a bended ear for in return. I found a partner, a protector, and a lover whose touch will reverberate within my being for a lifetime.  I found the comfort of being recognized as an individual, and not only respected because of it, but encouraged to continue to be. In your eyes I found the depth that only poets and songwriters have described, and I can tell you from the bottom of my heart, babe, that there has never been a man in my life who has ever looked at me the way you did – the way that made my heart draw out a thousand fiery songs and a thousand weightless butterflies all at the same time. You were the missing piece, you were the colour on my canvas, the melody in my song. The day I fell in love with you, I was wrapped up in your arms and I remember thinking to myself, ‘this is what it’s supposed to be like’. I sit here now, writing this with tears and sadness but I think about that moment and I can’t help but feel nostalgic. Because no moment in my life has even been that special. I would go through every heartbreak, every tear I’ve ever shed, if I knew that you would be at the end of it all. I would do it over again, because this kind of love doesn’t happen to everyone.

I didn’t think that I would ever be alone again, but now all that accompanies me is the devastating knowledge of what I’ve lost in you.

I can’t blame you like how you told me I should. I can’t hate you like how you said I was entitled to. There is a void, a painful gap between my heart and my body, one that I’m not certain can ever be fully complete again. But I can’t hate you.

With a few heavy sentences, the heartbroken me is revealed. And in an instant, the lighthouse is lost.

 


Above All Else, I Believe In Love

freedom beauty truth love

 

I can’t say it’s been an easy path. That it’s been all sunny skies and rainbows and smiles and bliss.  I can’t say I’ve traveled the high road a lot of the time. Or been the “bigger person”. Or remove myself from the pettiness and drama that is sometimes (ok, often times) associated with relationships and their demise. I can’t tell you I haven’t made my fair share of mistakes, including some blatant ones. At one point in time – and not even that long ago, really – I would have even gone so far as to say I’d given up. Or, as much as I can really “give up”.

Today, it’s easy to write this. Today, I am happy and fulfilled and content. But other days are darker and more menacing. Other days promise only loneliness and a cold half of the bed with no one’s arms to hold me. I don’t miss those days. Those days make my heart immensely saddened. But for as many dark days I’ve had, there have been a hundred sunny ones. And although temporarily my saddened self would disagree, I know that I will always come back full circle and see the sunshine once again.

I’ve spent a good deal of time reflecting on my past experiences lately, and I’ve noticed a constant within myself. That constant- how an ex once described in a not-so-feel-good way during the ‘break-up talk’- is that I’m “all heart”. And you know what? Hell, yeah.  I’ll own that. I love to love. 100%. Yeah, it hurts like nothing else in the world when it crashes and burns, but when it’s good… ahh… it’s wonderful.

But it’s not only that. Sure, I love the idea and the feeling of falling in love. I love the butterflies in my stomach and the jittery nerves right before a first kiss. How after a while of being together, my heart skips a beat when I see a message on my phone from him and how my heart steadily beats faster the closer I get to seeing him again. And how the sound of his voice stirs something in the bottom of my heart that no one else has been able to touch. But what’s even greater than that is what comes next. The life, the reality of the thing. Like two people who have birthed a child together, I feel that true, real love is the greatest thing any two people can ever create together. It’s unique and personal, gentle and strong. It’s the thing I’ve been searching for, and my most valued… what, accomplishment? State of mind? I lack the word for it, but that’s the problem with words, isn’t it? Sometimes they don’t exist for what you’re trying to say.

A while ago, I said that love was a strange bird of prey; it soars above humanity, one wing dipped in gold, the other in tar. And to that I hold true. Even now as I write this, I am in a happy relationship, but it rings true in the way that no great love is without great risk and sometimes great pain. But my words originally spoken back then were written from a darker place, one that contained depression and sorrow and despair. They were written between tears and replays of scenarios gone wrong, between sobriety and sleep and ever changing states of mind. That’s the risk you take when you’re “all heart”. Everything feels that much more intense, that much more real. I never said I wanted to be this way, I only said I was.

Yet, I accept what I’ve been given. More to that, I’ve learned to embrace it. I used to think it was a detrimental character flaw, but as I grow and become more in tune to the authentic me, I’ve learned  it’s anything but detrimental. It’s a gift. It’s what has led me to travel alone and seek out new relationships and take risks and learn from them- whether they’ve paid off or not. It’s what has taught me to reach out to the people I otherwise may not have, and to listen and be inspired by their stories. It’s what has taught me to love and let go when it’s needed. And more importantly, it’s taught me when it’s worth hanging on.

My words back then were laced with blackness. Today they shine with the colour of the universe. Same words, but a different perspective. Isn’t that what happiness is at the end of it all anyway?

If love is a strange bird of prey, then let me be the air on which it’s wings glide. For love cannot exist without a heart to hold it. I believe in forever. I believe in risk. But above all else, I believe in love.

 

 

 


The Thousand Pieces In My Head

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So I’m sitting here waiting for a phone call. Two, in fact.

The first, to find out if I got the new place I’ve had both my eye and heart set on. The second, from someone much more important. But here’s the problem: I’ve already got it twisted around in my head so badly the reason why that second phone call has not yet come in that it’s tearing me apart inside.

Rationally, I know it’s nothing. I know things are fine and great and not in need of such intense emotion. But when it happens, it’s like trying to reason with an overtired angry child in my brain. It’s a circular battle, and it more often than not always results the same.

I want to throw it away, this burden of mine. I want to shred it up into a thousand tiny pieces and burn them in a jar and toss the ashes into the wind and watch them dance away on invisible currents, never to be swept into my head again.

But how do I do that?

This is my anxiety and I fear it has the potential to ruin my life. I am so afraid of losing those who I never want to lose. It tells me that I will fail before I’ve even begun. It’s the ever-tightening grip somewhere between my lungs and my throat that squeezes away all reason, all logic and replaces it with cold, irrational fear. A heavy weight which I grow tired of bearing.

On any given day, my heart is racing. My stomach is turning and my palms are sweating because my brain is telling me that I should be in fight or flight mode, as if it were derived from sleepless nights under the stars when every sound could kill you and there was no such thing as “taking it easy” if you wanted to survive. It feels as thought there is something that I should be afraid of and it’s just… around… the corner… But it never is. For each corner I turn, all I see is another stretch of long sidewalk and another wall to brave. Each wall bears it’s own unique set of fears and thoughts, worries and physical reactions. Though usually it’s the regulars- self doubt, guilt, fear, and that constant sense of impending doom- there is sometimes also an exotic blend of shakiness, loss of breath and the always popular reddening of the facial area. Then there’s the over thinking. Then before you know it, panic  takes hold of your brain and casts aside the ability to hold a normal train of thought and suddenly you feel like there are bits of time from your life that are plucked out, as though celestially, and set on a shelf display for you to look upon and dissect with your limited knowledge of why you are the way you are and why you don’t “match” everyone else. And even if just for moments at a time, you feel you may be losing your mind.

It’s a great way to shake the confidence of anyone who experiences it once, never mind on a daily basis.

A romantic interest of mine tells me he will text me and doesn’t, and now in my head we are breaking up. I am asked if I “have a second” and immediately in my head, I have done something wrong. I have an idea to share and someone questions it, and it crumbles like the remnants of a burnt city.

I wish so badly that those who don’t get it could just understand. I wish so much that you could just see what it feels like to be in my head- and that of the others like me- for a little while. It’s in the non-issues that everyone else sees, but for me- for us- it’s disaster, it’s monumental. It’s the way that I see the worst possible outcome based on the worst possible things that I’ve already experienced. My brain knows better, of course, but there’s something deeper, more powerful than logic that rules over and makes itself known louder and stronger.

Most times, my mask hides the turmoil and chaos happening inside. I’ve gotten better at it. But sometimes it shows through. These are the times that are the hardest because that’s when I feel most alone.

So I ask of you- those who cannot relate to this unwanted vice: Please. Be kind and gentle and sensitive to these unknown waters to you. For there are those in this world who fight daily battles of magnitudes you cannot fathom.


September

Once upon a time, the complementary balance made between the marriage of the crisp fall air and the warm summer sunshine used to hold nothing but eager anticipation of the return of Saturday morning cartoons, riding my bike around our house until my cheeks would grow rosy and cold, and my own celebratory birthday cake coinciding with the customary digging up of the potato patch. The autumn leaves would glisten in their new colours and the smell of the changing earth would fill my mind with a million memories of happy days.

Things are always less complicated when you’re a child, aren’t they? Back when saying goodbye meant “see you after summer break” and when I thought the term “passing away” just meant moving to a different town.

I know better now.

But I still wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you in the grown up world. It wasn’t fair that you passed away to a town that I couldn’t visit or call or see. It was intangible and I was left confused and hurt and shaken. As I gaze into my own reflection, the thoughts that I’ve pushed away for so long creep back in. Was there something I could have done? Could a magical combination of words have woven an invisible band-aid for invisible scars, the medicine seeping in and fixing what was broken? They tell me no, but in my mind, in my heart… I’m not so sure.

In life, I couldn’t find the words. My heart breaks for the weakness, but in death, I’ve finally found them…

I can’t know what you felt. If I could, then maybe I could have better understood. I can’t know the pain and the sadness. Maybe if I’d listened more, I could have better tried. I saw the hand reaching out, and in some way that only you and I know, I held it. If it was ever enough, I’ll spend a lifetime contemplating.

I’m sorry for not having the words when you asked for them. I’m sorry for letting your hand go when I should have stayed, should have been next to you in that hospital bed. I’m sorry for the hundred things that should have been different, should have been made right. I’m sorry for letting you down when I should have been helping you up. I can’t blame it on being young, on not knowing the words unsaid. I have nothing but these scars to offer.

And sometimes I still feel you. Maybe sometimes you’re still here. I catch my thoughts returning to years ago when I could see you smile, catch your voice on the wind and not have a care in the world about the future, what it holds or when we would need to say goodbye. But now, I can’t remember your voice.

I don’t know if it means much, but despite it all, I’ve never really let go. I’m holding your hand as tightly now as I ever could. With every hope and wish in the world, I’m there, holding on, eyes squeezed shut so tightly in the hopes that maybe when I open them again, this would all have been make believe. The problem with reality however, is that it is never just make believe.

I never thought I’d remember the smell of the air the day of your funeral. That such sweet memories would be tainted with such loss.  I never thought I would know what it would feel like begging God for more time, for a do-over that would never be granted. Most times, it felt like walking down a lonely highway in a heavy fog. Every now and again a passing headlight lighting the way, but ultimately ending again in shrouded mist.

I can’t know how things may have been. All I know is what has been.

All I can do is hope that somehow now you know that in that mist, I was there with you. And sometimes when I smell the earthy fragrance of soft leaves and frozen ground it’s like you never left after all. I close my eyes and smile into the wind.

Gone but never forgotten, my friend.


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