…to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” – A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
I wrote a poem but I had to delete it and will post a picture or two instead as a reminder that not everything, especially loss, needs a poem to commemorate the moment.
But this is a little reminder that for the last 17 years, this adorable nugget sat next to my writing desk through every story and poem, and gave me nothing but joy and unconditional love…
he ate the soup
you made for him
a few weeks
before you died. it was
sitting in the freezer
with a strip of masking tape
over the lid, his father’s name
written in your hand.
before october last year,
he used to call it
grandma rocket soup
because he thought she made it
when the whole time,
it was you. but when she died,
he replaced grandma’s name
with yours and now
he eats it quietly,
taking his time, as if
savoring every bite.
he thanked you, too, you know,
as soon as he finished
the bowl. he ate the entire thing,
the last bowl of soup
you made
for him.
lately i’ve found myself making lists.
one for today, another for tomorrow,
and yet another for someday
when things get better
but even that’s just a lie
as everything
around me
collapses.
too many deaths, too many regrets
too many fights, too much bitterness
all i can do is right the ship and hold on
no room for weakness
but this heart is too soft, too kind
hopeful that things will get better
and that people will return to kindness
and maybe a little bit of
understanding
even as reality tells me
it’s just a dream.
for there’ve been too many lies,
too much manipulation, so many threats to take in
that all i can do is hope that my heart holds on
and find strength within.
some people come into your life
needing no rhyme nor reason
in their presence, you feel your heart smile,
you hear your soul sing
the weight you’ve been carrying lightens,
and the tears no longer sting
suddenly you find yourself smiling
more than you ever thought possible
you find yourself feeling safe
some days, you even feel unstoppable
all because you opened your heart
when i was at my most vulnerable
so thank you, dearest friend,
for being there for me even now
after all this time, when everyone else has gone
their merry way, thank you
for being there for me when I needed
a good reminder I’m never alone.
i turned a year older yesterday
and for the first time I didn’t feel sad.
I felt happy and content,
as if something in my life
finally made sense,
from the relationships I made
to the ones I lost
even those that were never meant to stay.
is that why for the first time
in a very long time
i only have good things to say
I wrote In His Study six years ago in response to a writing prompt about a person’s character based on items in his desk drawer. While it didn’t really follow the prompt to the letter, I loved writing it and watching each character unfold on the page.
In His Study features one of my all-time favorite couples Luna and Devlin whose story I will go back to this year.
Until then, here’s a peek into their new life in London. I hope you like it!
“…as I do not believe in afterlife, I realize the gift artists make to the world is a selfless one ultimately, and that the knowledge that it may survive the self must be due to a belief in immortality. Or can one really work fo those one will never see? Do I ever think of those who will read me after my death?”
Anäis Nin
it was never about the sex.
it was always about connection.
it was never about the way you moved
(well, maybe a little)
it was more than a simple distraction
and as long as you’re willing to keep on going
then i’m game, too
for as long as this connections holds, baby
it’ll always be with you
is there a secret to falling in love
or is being in lust with you
so much easier on the heart
that i should refrain
from letting my mind tell me
to stop and just go for the ride
and fall and drown,
and like a magic trick,
appear unbruised,
like new?
you are my muse
and that is the truth, at least for now,
pulling me from the depths of despair
i find myself in somehow
preferring the comfort of the darkness
when there is so much light out there
until your smile, your eyes, your voice
prove the perfect snare
so keep me under your spell
for as long as you truly can
dance with me to the tune of my wildness.
be my hero, be my man
and i’ll write you until my tears run out
and i’ll need to cut open a vein
and let my fears and dreams and love spill out,
and all that my heart cannot contain.
Morrighan's Muse 