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A late night porch sit. Small talks with my girl and a few much needed laughs. A silent acknowledgement that something big has changed seemingly over night, in every category of our collective life. Blessed to have this even natured , generous, wise Capricorn daughter to work through it with. Blessed by Asher’s sudden outbursts of advice, full of whimsical impossible things. Blessed by Will’s lightening quick humor and steady confidence that all will be well. Better even. . Blessed by a partner who is so solid and hopefilled, that we can all lean in to his big arms and find reprieve from our worrying, dizzing minds even for a moment. He has room for all of us. Feet planted firmly, and ready for the next adventure. I have become acutely aware of the ticking clock and dwindling time before we no longer can find respite on this familiar, precious side porch that has become as much of a vital character in the story of our lives as any one of us. The tick tick tick growing louder by the minute in sync with our hands, as they are softly unfolding, gently releasing, readying themselves for inevitable last touch to free fall and blessed surrender to whatever the unknowable has in store for us next. https://www.instagram.com/p/CdJiCE_PYty/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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When I say his name

There, tucked inside the syllables

The minuscule spaces between letters

is where I’ve hidden every sound

Every proclamation

every haunting, keening

crooning word never spoken

Never to be spoken

My lips swollen and parting and begging around them

They sting like bees in my mouth

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James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

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“… all these places I have traveled without you, so I can forget how without you I am”.

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A few resolutions. Small and to the point. 1.) Study my 7th grade French book for 30 min every day. Start back at the beginning. It’s beyond time to learn it for real. 2. get back in to photography and take these stories and horror show dreams out of my head and on to a photograph. On to anything, really. As long as they don’t keep swirling up here like a brain ghost. (ps if you want to get picture freaky with me, lmk.) 3.) self publish the first novel I ever wrote, sell it for 50 cents. Just get it away from me That’s it… I want a quiet year. I want it to make sense. Books, learning, music, making things with my hands, and writing… that is where I belong. That is where life makes sense for me. And I’ve drifted very very very far away. I wrote an embarrassing rough skeleton of something today and slipped it in here for you. I even included the word/image dumps and frustration. Writing is a puzzle. It is the only thing I know how to do. Photo 1: In a little pink nook in my bedroom, I keep my most prized gifts. All given to me by either my mother or friends at different points in my life. Some of them contain intimate notes, torn covers and tear stained pages. Most of them smell like my childhood home, all but Baldwin & Bukowski. Bukowski smells keenly like the end of a precious life and I don’t mind it one bit. Another Country smells perfectly musty, like the back corner of a forgotten library. The two mix well, although an unlikely pair. They are only slightly held apart by Mary Oliver. An intentional held space for grief and grace. These books are stand ins for the friends they represent. The special ones who I loved and could not keep. Some are representatives of my former selves. I couldn’t keep them either. But their company and lessons remain impeccable. A small hope of mine is that some day I will write a book and it will mean enough to someone that they’d want to share it with their dear friend, lover, crush, daughter, and I will sit curled in a woman’s room on a special shelf that means more than just the story within. That maybe something I have to say could become an act of love, a gift that says, these words made me think of you. https://www.instagram.com/p/CYaew12sVPp/?utm_medium=tumblr

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Spring, that relentless old lover. Will come and bloom. The world will still be bleak and ending… but at least it will be full of flowers and the anticipation for sun on our cheeks.

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A study in absence

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"Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt."

or, the limitation of the medium | In stillness, terror. musings

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