Tag: sadness
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My love
this thingof oursis so fragile.Like early morningcobwebs, it gleamsand delightswith prisms of light through dewdrops.Radiant rainbows abound.Yet one smallgust of wind, orthe merest of tugsmay send it flying. My heart aches atthe prospectof its delicacy. Itis weak, andincapable ofgirding its own loins. And soI guard itin my heart. Knowingthat wehave bothbeen downthis road before.And thatdisappointmentmay…
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When
they leave,they take a pieceof us withthem.To a placewhere itcan neverbe retrieved from. When theyleave,words arepointless aswe stand byhelplessly,steeped inunbearable pain. When they leave,we tellourselvesstories of neverever lovinganother dog. Everagain. When theyleave, wefeel shameat having letthem go, whilebeing brave forprotecting themfrom furthermisery. When theyleave, weblame ourselvesfor all theshould havesand could haves. When theyleave, wejust miss…
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Some exceptions
are worthmaking.Some odditiesare worthconsidering,in the moment,or the week,or perhapseven the months,when thingssimply feelodd, or off. Only, it’s notthings thatare off,it’s you.And you can’tquite putyour fingeron it.There’sthe near immediateguilt of havingso muchto be thankfulfor, to lookforward to,in your everydaylife. Yet somethingis chafing,and you can’tquite figure outwhat, where,or how. Discomfort.Sitting with it,is probably oneof life’s mostprofound lessons.…
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Maroon
unlike T Swift,I despise it.Call it burgundy,oxblood, oreven garnet. See, this colourtakes me backto a darkplace.A place offear, hurt,abandonment,heartbreak,in fact, near-totalannihilation. And this wasmore than twentyyears ago,and the doer ofthe deeds islong gone.The scarsare mostly healed,and tattooed over.Yet.Burgundy hasthe uncannyabilityto bring itall back.Short, staccatoflashbacksof a horror moviewhich was oncemy life. The camera swayingBlairWitch-like,the fear tearing…
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When
the gremlinscome calling,they are scary, andcunning. They talk to us,in our own voices,knowing,we’ll believethe horrible thingsthey arethrowing around,their sole aimbeingtobask in oursorrow.They are gluttonsgrowing faton our fear,and shame,and the shadowsof ournot-good-enoughs. They prefer usweak,and small,and doubting.Oh howthey enjoythese things. And we canstay there. Hidingunder the bed,or in thecloset.Breathing hard,chest wetfrom our owntears. Or.We can simplycall…
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Considering meeting Cerberus and other birthday complications
Birthdays can becomplex.On the happinessand lightside of thescale,there’s cupcakesand sprinkles,presents andjoy. There may alsobeneglect, orindifference,or simplyhaving nothingto give,or share. These aresome of theearly years’ birthdaythings. And yet,we move on,we grow,without thatpony, or puppyor senseof belonging. As supposedadults,they may retaintheirsame power:flipping theswitch back tothose vulnerabletimes…Waiting forother humansto arrive,only forno-one to pitch,being left out,or simplybeing consideredinconsequential. Yet…
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They sit
awkwardly together staring at the tiny screens, held lovingly in their palms. They don’t talk. Not to each other it seems. The waitress takes their order and their coffees arrive. I watch. They sip and love their phones. Eventually, they pay and leave. Together. Yet each holding onto that black oblong, fully immersed in the…
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It was the mention
of aftercare practices that finally does my head in. Practices so tender and even heartwrenching, that I’d just experienced for the first time, lapping them up unashamedly, only to fall back to earth hard and fast; unsteady, disorientated, sad. These were not our special things, contrary to what my naive, trusting heart had been telling…
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And then
you leave like I knew you would. And my heart aches, as she cries out, yearning for you, while I slowly turn and walk away. Another great weekend done. Another long week to come. A week of messaging, and missing you, and wishing-you-were-heres, knowing fullwell that here is completely irrelevant. It is in fact all…
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When the light
fades it happens unexpectedly. Seeping out of a tiny hole I seem to have left unplugged, in error. Although, is anything ever truly done in error? Or is it simply the self making room for expansion? Sometimes for oneself, and oftentimes for another. Leaving room and holding space for disappointment, for unrequited expectations, for loss…