My apartment is still so empty.
As I look back a few years, I still imagine the things I used to have. Another home, in another place with another person. Things were so different.
I was on a trajectory to live another life completely.
I guess that’s what I get stuck on from time to time.
My belongings are minuscule, now. Besides the pots and pans, all that resonates in my new space is the silence of missing a person. Borrowed and hand me down furniture. All of it, I am so thankful for.
It still smells old, here. Which I hope changes in the next months.
It’s okay, too. These are old bones, I can’t ask them to change, only just to accept my naivety and hipster music.
Sometimes, I feel it rise in my belly. That panicky feeling of being alone. The great weight I miss being intertwined with; learning, touching, growing.
Sundays are for sweet, soft songs and kissing of the same nature.
I realize my lack of physical touch has been missing. Not getting weird, here. Only exploring the depths of the things I didn’t know I needed then, but know I absolutely cannot do without. Everyone deserves this kinda thing.
It’s easy to want this right away.
That was the hardest part. The part I was so angry with for so long. That was the part that was taken away from me, and I hated it. Those are some wounds, like the burns on my arms, that will always leave their mark.
When I feel alone…that is the hardest part.
But I allow myself to feel, as I do. I feel the weight of our adult choices and the fine balance of fight or flight. The presence that sits with me in my sadness is here, now. That’s sort of when I lose it. I feel safe. That’s when I let out those big, heavy ones. I don’t just let it go, it starts small and sometimes gets ferocious.
I feel safe, though. I’ve learned how to feel safe when these waves start to approach. I let them wash over me and I get the luxury of being completely self-absorbed, and I get to wander around in my depth.
It feels like my very soul is sitting next to me, that person who is pure love and quiet and peace. I think some of that God-spirit stuff is there too.
I turned my air conditioner off, because it’s a little too loud. Outside I can hear the birds propping back on their branches after a week full of heavy rain. The humidity sneaks through the cracks of this old place, and I wake up somedays feeling damp, though it’s all in my head.
I sometimes fantasize about mountain living in Italy. Or a getaway cabin in Vermont, where I jokingly tell people I will live someday, making cheese and cooking grits for my kids.
oh, but you are free…dear one.
I hear that after all is said and done. I think, if I can change that much in five years, what will this year bring, and the next! It all becomes very clear that I have so, so much here.
I suppose starting over a few different times in the past 10 months has taken a toll. I hold firmly to my constants, and loosely to the things in between.
I start up my air condition again, because there’s 95% humidity outside. It reminds me of my place in this world.
Subject to the elements.
People, time, and nature.
I welcome it all.
I open my heart to all these things because they are important.
I’m living here, now. And as they say,
there is no time like the present.
4 responses to “past, present and humidity.”
A house full, is full of reminders………..
That’s what this stage is for…thinking, writing, not knowing…I remember buying my house as a single woman and it taking seemingly forever to place art on the walls…but I had to do it in my own time. Woodlawn still speaks of your impact, you are not forgotten wherever you go. Even though the humidity here is more of a metaphor than a reality 🙂
Ah, yes. I feel you on this one. So very much.
Correction, it’s 890()899000% humidity outside, and when we gonna get that table?