He says it’s impossible to bring me to him but he walks the streets I used to walk on nights like this and there he is.
I need to cry is what’s happening. My feeling of loneliness is stifling. It stifles my joy my creativity my sight my faith. I’m lost in it. It’s an entire place, loneliness. A very large place and when I’m there looking around me it feels more vast than any feeling I’ve felt otherwise. It feels bigger and more lasting than joy than wonder than trust than peace.
I don’t feel like I’m grieving anymore. Somehow this process of cleaning out my space has swept away the grief. It’s gone. But in its place?
Still sadness. Sad because I do not want to feel alone. And sad because the little girl in me – the one who used to be driven by that tiny little square of junkyard on Finch between Keele and Jane believing what they told her about the orphanage – that little girl, Clair, who only ever wanted to be loved and who only knew betrayal and disgust and impatience and annoyance and frustration and threats and violence. Clair wants there to be more love not only in the world but in her life. And she’s very afraid that if the love is not happening now it will never happen. Because, as the past says, shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up first.
But the adult me responds, hey, who cares which fills first? So I have a handful of shit. I also have a free hand to hold wishes. And after squishing the shit between my fingers and becoming intimate with the feel of it, I can move onto my other hand and start wishing. The shit hand is filled. No vacancy. Time for wishes. Some of us call them miracles.
It makes me sad, even still, that some people will never believe anything beyond the very low vibration of cynicism. I wish sometimes that I felt nothing in that specific case. But I cannot stop my feelings. They aren’t easy to corral. Feelings are wild and free. So, I feel. It’s compassion. Yes, even for people who are stuck in fear. At one point I was stuck in fear. And there were a few people who did not give up on me. Those people helped me. Their belief in me visa vie never giving up and holding my hand helped me. And I’ll never ever forget that. Ever. Regardless of what anything was supposed to be, that was supposed to be. And I am grateful. I will be forever grateful. And I even posted my gratitude online. I think, without understanding at the time, I did it for a reason. For this now. Because for whatever reason, whatever these people who helped me are going through, they need to know that what they did played an integral part in my getting through. And no, I would not have found just anyone else. I tried, remember? Just anyone else in my life was not to be. I know this now.
The problem is simply that I’m tired of all these hard times. I’m tired of going through such suffering tests struggles opportunities by myself. Without a man who loves me back to cuddle up into at the end of the day. I feel again, after this most recent mess, like I deserve to be loved. I’ve cleared out the shame. It blew away on the wind. A nice cold wind that came in from the north and went straight into the magma core of the earth.
still here, through again
only thing missing
whoever you are
I suppose I can go on alone. I suppose I will be okay for another winter year decade whatever alone. I suppose I will be okay until.