May God's Love Be With You

And it's still just me and You, ain't it? Quiet in the dark with salt water and something not quite sadness but something equally soft, equally comforting... It's really the same thing, same as when I like a song and I just leave it on repeat for a few hours, sometimes a whole year at a time. For so long it was that one, the one that reminded me on a nightly basis that as much love as I was capable of giving, I had yet to learn how to love myself. All that bullshit about having to love you before you can love somebody else... well, I always saw it as I just had to be able to Love, maybe Love You, but I never have forgotten, there was nothing to remember. There is only this darkness in this moment that reminds me that I don't know what I'm doing, that even if I know what I want and even if I know how to get it, I might not be able to find a person to go after it with, that even when I think I do, like I always think I do, maybe I just don't know, maybe nobody I can meet will be ready for that something with me. You know, I heard this one on a tv show, some episode about a funeral and it made me cry then even though I wasn't watching the actual episode... all I know is when I hear somebody sing like this, I believe in something so much that I'm still not sure of. I ramble a lot because after 23 years, I still haven't figured out how to say what I mean, even after hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of words, miles, tears, books, photos, people. None of it is quite the same as what I see when other people talk. Is that light in your eye or just a splinter? I think part of it is that there's always this noise, and this silence that I am so desperate for, and this person that won't sit with me in the silence yet, and this need to make people sit in that with me, and this pain that comes with knowing how much I could hurt you with it.

We never talked about that again.

I don't know why, but it bothers me that you never asked...

Maybe it's you, not me, that isn't quite ready for this.

Sometimes, even when it feels good, I realize it doesn't quite feel like what I need it to.

I miss living with Cara... and I miss other things sometimes. I don't miss all the things, but there are things I miss. There are more things I love than things I miss, but right now my eyes are wet and I just wish I had somebody to eat dinner with.

The Wackness

Quiet music notes humming through cheap speakers and all I can speak is to her, about how it isn't her fault, how even if it's her, it's not her fault, fault lines and cheap cameras and bad whiskey and a million apologies from a boy with a pocket knife just too accessible for a healthy relationship, there's nothing sharper than words and cheddar, and I don't mean money: honestly, I don't mean anything. To write, to escape, to eliminate, to remind myself that just because a wound is healed does not mean people will not later ask of a scar- and I mean this literally, literally imprinted upon some part or all parts of a body and a story and even a spirit has a scar and I wonder if God has any of those. A lot of people manage to hate Him (or It) and I wonder what THAT feels like, even with all the love of the rest of the world and knowing that every time somebody celebrates the beauty of a horizon or reuniting with an old something or finding forgiveness in their heart after so much hurt, even knowing all of that gratitude is yours, how does He hold it together to make another day? The truth is, it's irrelevant, and probably irreverent, and probably I used spell check to spell a word so simple I should know how to spell things like that without looking when I can spell big ole fat words without even a second guess. There's something sick about me some days and I wonder what it is, how to fix it, how to be a big person when I'm so small, how to cry less, how to cry more, how to listen better. The truth is, I can only be this little girl with scars and a song in my head and a cliche to work out. I just have something big big big it's something inside me waiting to pour out so much so the floodgates themselves will cry. Do you know how hard it is just to say what you mean when you aren't even sure what that is only that it IS is the thing? I've grown to love her deeply for her pain without knowing how to forgive myself for my own. Is there such a thing as sin if God already forgave me? I just want to make it all better, wish these bandaids were just a little big bigger. I'm still limping with a bloody foot, even though I finally washed my hair. IF I have a daughter, I'll name her Amelie and build her a big wooden swing with daisies in the yard and I'll know how to do something right, I think. For the record, only some things are true... others are just what they are: words or actions or make happens or do betters or stop cryings. I know that you loved her big, but I want to love bigger, love so that her broken heart can maybe forget that. You know?

Xoxo