So Much

[greenstorm]

I have so much to say. Some of it is secret. Some of it is private, the kind of thing that shrinks from the light. Some of it is personal. All of it is intimate, but that's my schtick, isn't it? I'm intimate at you. You lap it up.

And right now I'm bitter about that. Not deeply bitter, but there's an edge there. You know I'm wearing Michael's prayer beads around my neck tonight. I've had them... for awhile, he didn't wear them anymore and I kept them just for the scent, just for a little while, and the way the clatter and click of them transports me to sharply erotic scenes between the two of us. This is the first time I've worn them not being in his presence, and I wear them because I'm praying. The scent, the sound: these are reminders that I don't need of things that don't often trouble me anymore. Tonight they trouble me. I expect they will for some time.

I don't know what I'm praying for. I know who I'm praying for: Michael and his dad. I don't know who or what I'm praying to. I would be hard-pressed, tonight after a long day, to define praying in a way that satisfied myself, let alone you.

Nothing worth having is easy to lose. Nothing worth having comes without some risk of loss. It's not only intuitive but also starting to be science that losing something makes it more worthwhile. None of that matters in the face of a loss. Words are little pieces of black ribbon that flutter away in the wind.

Loss drives the world. Death is the fuel that drives the engine of change. That engine is how we get anywhere. It's ironic that the process of getting somewhere new can so often destroy the desire to be anywhere at all.

The world is good to live in. It's beautiful, engrossing, vibrant. It's also terrible, unfair, pointless, and painful. For every thrumming, sweeping moment of rightness and joy there is that beat-down misery somewhere. I've never been able to reconcile that. For myself I don't have to: I live in the extremes, I live in the textural differences. I may not always enjoy it, but I know these things are what sustain me.

I don't know what I'm saying. These words are pulling out of me, cryptic enough to leave them safe, I think, but not quite strong enough to crash through this bad taste left in my mouth. Loving someone ineffectually isn't loving them at all. We can never change someone else, not really, and we can't fix anyone else. Where does that leave love?

Some nights I wish I really was a force of nature, a wave to sweep everything away, a rock to anchor to. Instead I end up being only human. I can cherish that, allow that it lets me wrap myself up with other humans, enmesh and intermingle my life as I need to, as I want to. Then something happens and I'm left only human and, sometimes, there is regret.

I don't know what more to say. Goodnight.

Comments

[dunfalach.livejournal.com]

I'll pray for Michael, though if you want me to pray for anything more specific, Erin, you know you can reach me by mail or phone or FB. I'll drop you a note on FB in case you don't still have the email and phone. I do know who I'm praying to, and He knows what I'm praying for even if I only know the name. I sitll pray you'll know Him too before your time runs out.