A year ago May it rained.
And why I say it rained, I mean I cried downpours of tears
because a friend who was my north star, my constant, was gone.
Not dead. Just not drinking coffee on Saturday mornings.
Instead, we yelled at each other in the rain outside Starbucks on Sunday afternoon.
I cried in my beer and sat on a curb pouring out my heart.
And I’m not even sure what was in it. But I emptied it like shaking crumbs from the bottom of my purse.
And it was raining. And I was drowning in it.
July was like an inferno.
And when I say inferno I mean it burned up my life
and even thought I was exhausted, I would have run the whole way.
But I have nothing to show. Not the children, not the work.
I had worn myself to the ground with worry.
Even though my heart had been rent open time and again
to give more than I really had, it was never enough.
So I stood beneath a tree holding my heart like a dead thing in my hands, as the rain fell
And it burned my skin deep. And it scarred me.
September was a month of chill.
and when I say chill, I don’t mean something in the air,
no the South is too uncooperative for that.
I mean a slow, smothering lack of breath from the north.
I mean what happens when one is giving all they have
and the other has already walked away. Twice.
Its a breeze that blows discontent and disconnect and a congestion that makes my chest rattle
Its a silence. And I was screaming in it.
January is moth of leaving.
And when I say leaving, I mean breaking hearts.
Because I was already broken. And broken again.
And I sat on the sofa and lied to make myself feel better
because I was ashamed to admit I was scared.
And I thought I was so utterly alone
not realizing he’d just offered to keep me company.
I chose what was easy instead. And was alone.
The wheel keeps spinning.
And by spinning, I mean I can’t seem to stop this dizziness.
It rises up in my gut and makes my head hurt.
Make another cup of tea. Forget for five minutes.
Remember you are not the wheel.
Instead of turning, let’s go for a walk in the woods.