I live my life through the words I write
I think back to years ago
recalling small, singular events
of you, and me, and us.
I start with what I remember,
then my mind switches to imagination
and runs away.
As it runs away
it conjures stories and conversations
I know never happened,
but are real enough behind my eyes
I sit confused, uncertain.
Did we kiss?
Did we date?
Did we love each other?
Or,
did we end before we could begin?
It’s so easy to think
if in one situation,
any one situation,
I had said one different sentence,
my life would be completely different.
Digging out the key from the depths of my pocket
and opening wide the little metal door
I receive a sign, a symbol,
that something greater waits for me,
something so great it could not live within
this little metal box.
Hand-delivered to me is a cardboard box.
I recognize it instantly.
My heart leaps beyond my rib cage,
my mouth explodes into a smile
and my skin turns hot and clammy
as I take the box in my hands.
A corner is missing, exposing a corner of pages
within: pages I know, and love, and made.
You’re here.
I tear open the box,
gently extracting the stack of papers,
including four new ones written by someone else.
I feel everything.
I feel tears spring from my eyes
at the compliments,
I feel my head nod and mind expand
at the critiques,
I feel a deep exhale escape my mouth
at the suggested path forward,
I feel my heart race and palms sweat
at the positive encouragement.
I feel safe, and calm, and reunited.
I squeeze the stack of papers
close to my chest, just like she did.
This is coming home to myself.
What lay asleep in blackness
only moments ago,
now shows me signs of waking up
with color and light shining on,
and emanating from, their being.
Trees and clouds, vehicles and houses
come into full-colored view
as dawn breaks into day.
As coffee courses through my body
and words fill the pages,
I too come into full-colored view,
into myself.
taking ten minutes
settle down and clear my mind
a chance to start fresh
I take at least a dozen breaths,
formulate in my mind what I want to say
typing it out,
erasing, and typing it out again.
This is a safe space.
I ask the question.
How do you know when
you need more than just self care?
Reactions range from widened eyes,
to nodding heads and note-taking,
but him; he offers empathy.
We hardly ever need an engine replacement;
maybe it’s just an oil change or a tire rotation that we need.
Muted on the microphone,
I tremble and quiver in my thick wool sweater
as a tear slides off my cheek
and lands on the keyboard.
I want to listen to my gut,
follow what I believe, deep down, is right,
but when listening and following
means swimming upstream,
it’s hard.
Just a small diversion this must be,
some kind of detour I should follow,
before resuming my previous trail
of moving forward,
of moving on.
Just imagine
the acres of free space
I could free in my mind,
and the hours of free time
I could unleash in my day,
if I could stop thinking of you.
I can see you in my dreams
almost as clear as stars in the sky.
I can see this fictional world
crafted behind my eyes
and attempted to craft on paper.
You began behind my eyes
and live there every day,
help me go to sleep
daydream
and accompany long drives.
The part of me that never developed
until now.
Dawning Words 