Tag Archives: loss

Worry Box

I filled the box with my concerns.  Each written carefully on neatly lined paper.  My fears, my anxieties, my worries.  Spelled out before me in black letters.

I put them in the Worry Box and invited you to put yours there too.

Then we closed the Box and ran away together.

We rode 900 miles to escape our Worries.

But mine were never farther than the back pocket of my jeans, a denim cage that stretched taut across my ass as I straddled the seat of your motorcycle.  My Worries followed me – dogged every step of my foot through the mossy, tree-lined paradise we explored together.

I forgot them often – transported as I was by your smile, the sunshine on my face, and the laughter we shared.  The playful exchange of jokes, gentle barbs and tender kisses all provided me respite from those Worries.

But they were never really forgotten.

They would escape their cage and climb upon my shoulder, whispering in my ear as the landscape blurred past.  As the bike leaned through curves, they would dig in – holding fast to me and making sure they did not fall to the roadway as I desperately wished they would.

Fucking tenacious Worries.

You and I shared some beautiful moments over those three days.  Tranquility, companionship, intimacy.  I fearlessly drove my tongue into your most intimate spaces.  I savored your taste and smell, drinking you in and memorizing each moment. The gentle pressure of your hand reaching back to stroke my knee while riding.  The way your face looked bathed in glow from the campfire.  Watching you laugh and try not to choke on a mouthful of molten marshmallow and chocolate.  The sweep of your lips across my forehead as I rested in my snuggle spot.

In the back of my mind the refrain played over and over, “I will miss this.”

I said nothing but the words were there – gushed  across sheets, reflected in my eyes as I gazed up at you from my knees.  Clinging to the fingers that reached over as we walked and wound through yours.  I love you. Of that, there is no doubt.

In the shadow of that love I sense the pain coming at me.  Like a sharp S-curve that will tilt my world.  I don’t know how to avoid it.  I can’t seem to find a way to lessen the sting.  For all the armor I wear, I know it cannot protect me from it.  I am going to feel it.  Deep and hard.

And there is no way a box full of paper is going to save me.

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Filed under Erotica

I stand alone

Author’s Note:  This is one of the rare times when the words you read here are are not fiction.  There is nothing sexy or erotic about what I am going to reveal here.  Consider it a glimpse behind the veil.

Today, for the first time since I was 22, I stand alone.

As of 9:50 a.m. today, I am officially a divorced woman.

I came home tonight to an empty apartment – a homecoming that I managed to put off several hours with mindless retail therapy in the name of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas.

Today, I did not turn to Kik, to text messages, to the countless digital distractions that have filled my days since I moved out of my home.  Today I spent the day holding it all in – the pain, the sorrow, the loss, the regret, the animosity, the anger.  At one point during the day, a well-meaning coworker asked me if I was alright? His question nearly broke my tenuous composure.

No.

I am NOT okay.

None of this is okay.

It isn’t just the divorce.  Yes, it is true I held my breath in a courtroom today, avoiding eye contact with a judicial assistant as I silently prayed the Judge saw the desperation in my ex’s last-ditch attempt to reduce child support.  I silently prayed that I would find the well-spring of calm within that would help me get through this terrible day.  I prayed for strength, hoping that the strength so many people claim to see in me would not fail me in my moment of need.

But today was a final reckoning in many ways.

There has been a couple of years of seismic change in my life.  I have made countless choices that have had expected, and unexpected, consequences.  I have leaned on people, digital strangers who became friends, lovers, and ghosts.  I have fled my sorrow hiding from my feelings in the arms of men – seeking distraction from my pain in frivolity.

I have lost. Husbands, families, circles of love that I thought would always be there embracing me.  I have shattered more than just my own dreams for the future.  I have taken away dreams from those who are too young to know what they have lost.

I have lost friends whose wisdom and humor, whose perspective and support kept me going when I felt I could not fight any longer.  I have lost the dream of someone – the dream of a future I dared to long for, but was not courageous enough to fight for.  Love I once held in my heart for others.

I have lost love.  Love from people who once called me family. Love from people who yearned to call me their Lover.  Love from those who said their love for me would never end.

There are regrets.  I can see clearly the pain my journey has caused others.  As this Phoenix has burned, so has she burned those who stood too close to her.

I can only pray that now the burning is over.  With each dawn that brightens my bedroom, I hope beyond all other that the burning time is over and today is the day I will rise from the ashes.

Today, for the first time since I was 22, I stand alone.

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Filed under Erotica

Casting Off

The art of letting go.

Why is it that I find it so much easier to let go of the ledge and fall into the void they call love, and so goddamned difficult to let go of that swirling ghost ride when it is over?

It’s a good question.  One I do not have the answer to.

I had thoughts today. Dark, dangerous, impulsive thoughts.  Thoughts that, while they swirled through my mind in an angry I buzz, revealed to me the fact that I have still not let go.  I have not disengaged where I really need to most.  Where it matters most.

And I need to.

In boating, there is always one last rope that you must cast off before you are free of the dock.  My rope is still tethered to the dock, my boat bobbing in the water, waiting to ride the currents.  If only I could cast off that line, I could be free to begin the journey I am meant to travel.

It creates a sense of frustration, a feeling of impotent rage.  The struggling within myself to accept what is not going to change, to accept the things that have changed, and to accept that the twists and turns of fate have brought me here, to this point of being that feels so unfamiliar to me.  My life itself feels unfamiliar to me.  Like I have put brand new shoes on the wrong feet and I am running in a marathon, trying to figure out why I am struggling and everyone else is breezing past me.  The answer is so clear.  Let go.  Let go of the anger.  Let go of the pain.  Let go of the people who didn’t value me enough to stay present in my life.  Let go of the transients that were just passing through.  Just let fucking go.

Let go of the emotions that are stuffed down so deep inside my immune system is fighting against itself.  Let go of the hurt and the doubt.  Let go of the blackness that is swirling around me, sucking me into a vortex of darkness.  Let go of the guilt.  Let go of the blame.  Let go of the versions of myself that are not true to who I am.  Stop trying to be the fantasy and just be me.  Let go of the past so I can see the woman staring back at me in the mirror clearly.  Maybe for the first time in my life.

I need to swap those running shoes, grab that bitch of a rope and cast off.  Let this journey begin before my time runs out.

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Filed under Tender

Insomniac’s Lament

The fog is gathering outside the bedroom window of my apartment.  A nearby traffic light splashes colors in sequence on my bedroom wall, red, green, yellow, red.  I should be sleeping but the oblivion of sleep is not mine to be had on this cold night.  I am being kept awake by the clanging of memories in my head.

Moments from a not-too-distant past come back to me, tiny snippets return home to nest in my mind.  The sound of your laugh. The feel of your long fingers as they touched my face.  I still sigh when I think of your touch.  The only person I have ever known who could make me feel fragile and beautiful, utterly revered, with simply a touch.

I find myself searching to recreate some of those moments.  A good meal, even better conversation and the story of my life spinning on the CD player.  Laughter and companionship.  Open wounds examined and analyzed,  carefully tended to and healed.  Freedom and expression.  Romance and redemption.  Rebirth.

I search in vain.

It is easy to go back in my mind, and paint over the painful parts.  To cover the awkward moments, ignore the signs and signals that you flashed along the way.  You left a bread-crumb trail for me to follow – and in my haste to reach you, in my rush to be by your side, I missed them all.

I see them now, thanks to the benefit of my old friend: 20/20 hindsight.  I hear the messages you carefully wove in your words; the cautions, the warnings that this was indeed a temporary state of bliss.  My foolish optimism knew no bounds and I hoped, I believed.  All the while, the realist in me knew that with each step, as it grew into something far beyond its humble beginnings, that it would not – it could not – last.

But when I close my eyes and rest my head on my pillow at night I can feel your hands on my face.  While it is the memory of your touch that haunts me, it is the friendship I miss the most.

You tried to tell me.  I just didn’t want to hear it.  There is no way this could have been a lasting thing.  Rebounds are like snowflakes – fragile, unique and never meant to stand the test of time.

 

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Filed under Love Notes