Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Thursday, Jul. 28, 2005 @ 6:50 pm

Time, time oh God creeping towards 25.

Realizing that I'm no longer young, I see lines around my eyes from my smiling. Smile - to be happy, brings lines of age - a breaking down of the body - if I didn't smile I'd stay young.. but I need to l i v e . . .

The changing of my wardrobe signals a certain transition - one I've resisted for years. What does this mean? It has been a serious project, turning over drawers and relinquishing too-small t-shirts and four-sizes-too-small jeans.

I don't know how to stop the pain. ChrischrischrisCHRIS. It's a regret, I forget why he wasn't enough... two Chris's at that... not just one. I ran away in selfishness. Now it would be selfish to try to climb back up into that high place of love with one of them. Who knows, maybe they are in love again right now. I need to let it out. How can I tell him, "I LOVE YOU I STILL LOVE YOU I MISS YOU"? Crying. It is hard to breathe. Silence is so loud in my ears I feel my vision creeping down into black tunnels, lovelovelove I hurt the one I loved, who loved me.

I'm obsessing over Chris. I want to drive to his place in the night and sneak into the field and look into his apartment window. I need to see his face, his softly browning eyes, the lazy eye I forgot to ever notice... why boys with bad eyes? (Because then they only see me in blur which is like beautifying candlelight.)

I used the binoculars he gave me to scan the crowds at the fireworks, hopeing they'd draw my eyes to him.. but maybe they protected me from him and his new love... for he must have a new love - I taught him that, and his open heart would be a beacon for another.

Rollerblading through the crowds after the fireworks I am happy. I forget about them, I forget about anything but the wind and the slow-moving people. It is a dream and I am flying over this chaotic scene. Helicopter search light flashes over us and blinds me for a second.

Blink. I emerge from the water at Spanish Banks and Tim is wading in. I swim like a seal towards him and splash him and pull him in. The sky is painted in wild oranges and pinks, the sun nearly finished setting. I do love him, so much, I can hardly feel anything else. Especially here in the ocean, because he can cradle and hold me effortlessly in the bouyancy of the saline.

Floating in his love is easy, but still there is a weighing anchor - a heavy iron-linked chain of broken hearts.

Symphony of Fire: Canada and the Inukshuk

Roots | Shoots