Hurting A Bit

Because, you know, everything ends. I'm okay with clear, hard, clean ending lines, but I'm not doing that here. The thing itself fades in and out, and I wrap up my memories in soft paper to take out later and go back to the rest of my life for awhile-- who knows how long? Being deeply conneced to something so uncontrollable is a challenge, because I have little faith in anything I don't understand completely.

Giving up control where you don't really have it, not trying to grab details and pretend they're the soul of the thing but instead to take the thing itself when given and go on when it's not: those are my constant challenges.

Last night, as if by parting gift, there was a lightening storm with rain. It came down quickly enough to soak me to the skin in the twenty minutes I was out in it, and the lightening was over the whole sky. Thunder was a constant low rumble, not in claps. At the beginning, the lightening came down through the sunset and the fireflies blinked below in the fields. At the end it was quiet, and dark.

They say it wasn't a lot of rain for Iowa, and it wasn't for Vancouver either, but it happened all at once. Just a few minutes, really, and the rain part was over. The lightening continued for awhile.

I want to just be home, instead of travelling to get there.

Further, it's blood day. The rain released some tension I suppose.

Think of me today. I miss you.

Daylight.

Cause, y'know, you can have soft starry-eyed feelings of loss and grief at parting, and soft-lighted romantic anticipation of homecoming, but when it comes right down to the hard edge of reality it's about sitting in a car bleeding heavily for three days, camping in crowded quarters while using pit toilets with no shower and a hormonally heightened sense of smell, and coming home to a bunch of people who are pissed off at you for various of your all-too-obvious flaws.