Really.

Really [?!?]

Yes, I really did miss you.

Your surprise, surprises me.

How could I not miss you? You are so easy. I feel myself falling into your words, your eyes, as we talk. As the world melts away around us. Every place is our park bench, our private universe, where no one else...really matters. We talk about everyone that matters, matters out there..but it's out there.

Vulnerability. Weakness. Some of us, we're made of weakness. Those who are strongest and...bold, so bold-they're often the ones suffering the most. I know you are snapping at me because I have something you don't. Stop trying to talk me into believing that, that you are so self possesed now. That a few months doing something different has changed every bit of you. I don't believe it for a second, especially when I can see straight through you on this very normal Fall afternoon. When the distractions, the overt beauty, the newness...when they are all stripped away, all I can see is you. And the huddled, scared little one that you are.

I've learned something real. Relationships are a choice on two ends. Love is expressed differently by every person, but the choice to react, enact, and exist in conjunction-that's not one sided. I'm not sure I want some of you back. I'm sure I don't want some of you. What's the time limit on hurt? When is the time to move on? Exactly 800 hours from the time of the impact? Do I get a grace period if I have a lot going on? I am a science experiment, put on this earth to feel more than anyone else, to experience humanity at the very core of who I am-not just my humanity, but everyone else's, too.

Who asked me? I don't want your burdens! OFF, off, off.

No wonder I forget that I have a choice, too.

I decide not to ask if you missed me. Really. I didn't ask.

I didn't have to.

Really.

One word, said it all.

Really.

I WANT you, I want you right there, on my park bench, on our bench, forever. I thought we at least had forever.

Really.

I know what I have to do to get you back.

Why can't I see that I have a choice? Why can't I see that I don't have to have you? What about you, having me? Does love and a genuine soul really scare you so much? Do you have to run so far?

Really?

really.

Crisp:

This Fall, falling night

That perfect, shining apple

The distant warmth of your tight smile

Awaken/Autumn

7:45

The bright numbers stare me down, full of the potential. Little potential, for 7:46.

I can’t know what to make of this morning. It is bright, so bright. It is shrinking my pupils to tiny pinholes with it’s fall sunlight. That tree, there, is ablaze with Fall. My mind is, too. As these leaves die, I feel like I’m getting some sort of fresh start. Watching these leaves fall, these trees shed, is like some great big annual metaphor for the shedding of whatever..was. The potential, like those numbers, of what could be. What will be, if I only let my eyes open to it.

Is it too bright out there to see a thing? What could be is an overwhelm. The mist, the mist..I miss the comfort of your underwhelm.

And then, just like that, with a hint of what this day and this life can be, the sleep is out of my eyes and out of every muscles. Each muscle thread twitches with everything to do and be done today. I must arise. Awaken, awaken, those fire-leaves call. Awaken. Feel the still air next to your bed. Move it with your just-rising grace. Listen to the strains of a tune, emanating from some distant inspired soul. Dance, dance to that stolen song and that borrowed moment, for what else will you do? You cannot remember yourself now, or you will lose to that jarring screech that is reality. Hold the grace of this bright, bright morning, firmly in your…

In your…

In your outstretched palm.

Streetlamp Ghosts

Missing people. That’s the worst. It’s like…loving and losing, without the closure of just losing. They’re there, right in front of you, but you can’t reach them. Someone checked out or just isn’t right, or right there, and there you are, wandering about the parking lot of the closest building, letting the rain soak your hair and wash your eyelashes as you close your eyes to the dull ache, the ache that used to be pain, the pain of not-losing. That parking lot was full of memories and empty of what could be real.

I miss so many. I miss how you make me laugh, how you make me feel like a shinier version of myself, you made me feel so accepted. All of you, you had to leave, because of life and distance and wherever the path was taking you. It’s nights like this that make me remember it all, and make me wish the ghosts of all of you would stop dancing around me in the mist, beckoning. I wanted these ghosts to disappear, and I wanted to be overwhelmed by all of you really and truly being there, surrounding me, crushing me with your reality and presence. That’s all I want. All I want is everything, all I want is the impossible: to go back to what was, freeze that moment in time, and stagnate joyfully.

I can feel myself reaching out. Some of your ghosts are so real. I have just lost you, and you. Come back, my fingertips whisper, as they brush the dampness and the air. Life is to fall in love with things that will never last, because nothing is yours forever. We search for forever, desperately, but it will never be ours to have. Forever is the greatest fantasy, your ghosts tell me, with laughing eyes and mockery turning your smiles into crushing sneers.

My boot hits the ground with a sharp thud as I come back to what this really is, stepping back. This is just a stormy night, I am just by myself, and this is just an empty parking lot. Each of these spaces had cars, filled with people who fled this place of stark loneliness, to their reality of people. People who are real and now, their fleeting forevers. They didn’t want this place, and as much as my heart yearns for each of your ghosts to become real and embrace me right now…I also am aware of the light in my current reality. I have forevers, too.

I walk out of this parking lot, this dark space, it’s one yellowed light leading me to my path, my path to forever. I was allowed a step back, and a step back reminded me to live in my present. Maybe, one of these ghosts will come back to me. For now, I must preserve my life for what is here and alive.

Thud, thud, thud. My footfalls and my heartbeat. Alive.

Packets

Four packets of sugar. No, five. Five will turn to six soon. This is endless, this tea pot. If this tea pot continues to give and give, I won't object. Not at all. Fill me up. Something should fill me up.

Wait.

I can't drink this anymore. I'm full. But I was always full, wasn't I? I was trying to make room, I was looking for something to fill a gap that didn't ever exist. I am not a piece of a person, and I haven't been for quite some time.

Is this what loneliness has done to me? I created a hole I didn't have, and tried to shove something to fill it, but it just can't be that way! None of my fillers will fit! Not that "friend", not that new habit, not a new style. Nothing can fit a hole that doesn't exist.

I was searching voraciously to be redeemed and to be made new, to be a person no one could recognize, all the while being dragged under the waves. I know who I am much too well to try to change into someone I'm not. I guess my subconscious just knew about it before I did.

You can't be someone you're not. "Sometimes the best way to love someone is to let them go." Sometimes, the best way to love yourself is to let go of what you think you need, you think you have, you think you deserve, and realize that you can love people for exactly who they are, even if THAT is not what you want at the time. There's something real and different about love that isn't what you are looking for or what you expect because, honestly? We don't get what we're looking for, or what we think we deserve. We get what we get. You can't force a square to be round, and you can't force those who walk into your life to be someone else, someone you envision. Love them, or be brave enough to let them go.

And the thing I yearn for the most is the thing I will never get: an average, normal life. You know why? I'm neither. As much as I struggle with that, as much as I hate it...I am neither normal nor average. I'm going places...or I'm trying pretty hard, anyways. I love more deeply, yell louder, laugh longer, and cry harder than almost anyone I know. Life is...it's enough for me, because I make it more than it is. I feel life completely, unapologetically. I can't be normal, as nice as that might seem.

Ok....

Ok....

I'm back to my tea. I'm back to this place of crowds, of roaring whispers, of knowledge and of work. I am whole, totally me, quirky, original, weird. But me, and totally me.

Maybe, though. Maybe there's a little bit of room, here, where I am larger than life...for you.

What the Marianas Trench has to do with Me.

The deepest point of the ocean is the Marianas Trench, which is almost 7 miles deep, covered entirely in water. If you got even halfway down in this watery canyon, you would be crushed by the combination of atmospheric and water pressure. Incredibly, life exists at the very bottom. Yes, we have been able to explore, which really denotes how there is not one spot that we can say is truly untouched on Earth.

Besides being a trivia fact, this is automatically the image I think of when I think depth, and life, and reality. I grew up next to the ocean, so most of the facts that I learned at a young age had to do with marine life and tides and wave patterns. One of the best lessons I learned at a very young age was phrased as a warning, "Never turn your back to the ocean." In other words, life is incredibly unpredictable, so use your sight and whatever wisdom you have to prepare for it, and that's really all you can do. You can't stop the waves from coming and knocking you over, but that doesn't mean you avoid plunging in, as we learned in many undertoes, riptides, and failed attempts to body surf. We were kids: stupid, forgetful, and happy.

The Marianas Trench has always fascinated me for this reason, since the ocean is such a big piece of me. Whenever life seems overwhelming, but incredible in how much one human can experience, I think of this place. It's scary to be human. It's scary to cry for no reason, to be overwhelmed with someone's kindness, and to feel completely eaten up in those feelings. It's scary to trust someone, and it's scarier when you have no one to trust. I have always wanted to experience the trench, just to be afraid, so afraid that I wake from the stupor that I feel I am often in. To be over that deep, deep hole, an unsolvable equation, and marvel at its incredible depth, and how that depth barely touches the depth each person has to feel, feel...everything.

I crave humanity, because it is so real and it must be the only way to feel alive. What is it, to crave humanity? It is to crave everything that makes us...be able to feel. To feel awful and to feel wonderful, it is all humanity. And I know that I am alive, that I have a pulse, when I am most ridiculous and shouting meaningless sentences, but also when I am able to be right next to someone as they experience deep pain, then realize that they can survive their worst nights. I am the hand they hold, and the strength they draw on. It seems strange even to me, to say that this darkness makes me feel alive, but I guess it is the ability to be resilient that is my favorite human trait. The ability to be stupid, even. To be rash, spontaneous, to run head-on into embarrassment and certain risk, but to not care. THAT is humanity. To see the deepest trench in the world, and to be scared out of my mind of the depth and the crushing potential and to still want to be there and absorb that fear? I can't imagine anything more human.

Sometimes, when I am feeling very elementary, I metaphorize myself as the ocean. Sometimes, I am on the shore, not willing to go beyond the surface. Other times, I am in complete, stormy chaos, and still other times...I am at the bottom. I am my deepest trench, overwhelmed with the reality that this wonderful and terrible world is.

I guess...everything has been feeling very real, lately. I'm not explaining myself very well, but I believe that that is where the power of this moment lies-it's inability to be explained. Last night, I started crying over something seemingly small. A sweet gesture, inarguably so, but nothing earth-shattering...but it was so real, and so what I needed, I couldn't stop my visceral reaction. And really? I don't know why I cried. I can figure it out, but from a girl who never cries...it felt truly amazing. Those tears were my ocean, my salt water healing.

It felt human.

It felt alive.

And, as much as I am trying to avoid rambly, diary-type posts...I can't help but share this one. Maybe it's frivolous of me.

Maybe...it's just human.

Loss

So. I see this is your first time dealing with the worst news. Not quite the same as bad news, is it? Bad news lets you keep standing, or maybe you sit down. I hope you were sitting when you heard this one. The worst news never gave you a chance to stay upright-it took the ground away from you as cruelly as a sudden sinkhole.

A sinking feeling? Sure. A daze? Probable. Sobbing with dry eyes?

Always.

The worst comes with the shoulds.

You should be upset, in public, in front of judging and bitter eyes.

You should accept the forced graciousness of those around you. They are being selfless for YOU.

You should act slowly, shuffling, hurt, proper, restrained. Keep your anger. Keep your confusion.

Keep

Your

Fear

Away

All I ever wanted to do was lie in front of that altar and cry, cry for hours, and demand a reason. All I wanted was SENSE, and all I got was whispers and black and a pervasive mist that Friday. The sun, at least, didn't dare mock me.

I hope you have rain. You can blame it all on the rain. Rain brings heavy hearts and wet faces, right?

"At least" comes next.

At least you weren't right there.

At least you got this time, this time.

At least it wasn't sudden.

Because I can PREPARE to have my own mortality shoved in my face? I can PREPARE to have to deal with everything that is swirling around me, but be deemed the strength here? And I can PREPARE to feel like the roof just fell on me, but look ok for the benefit of people who don't care in the way you do, in a way no one can imagine?

I can prepare?

If I had lived the past 200 years, I would not be prepared for this punch in the stomach.

You will want to cry, and that's fine. You will want to curl up and hope you disappear, and that's fine, too. Change out of your Church blacks. Don't ruin your nice shirt.

You will want to scream in rage and confusion and pain.

But don't. It is part of the human process to not be allowed to release the pain you are feeling. It is normal to hold yourself back, for the good of others. It is...considerate. It is a terrible thing, what these customs do to our souls.

Most of all, you will feel alone. No matter how many people pat your arm or offer you water, you will feel like the last person left on the planet. No one can understand. No one can walk you through this.

But, that feeling will fade. One friend will call. Another will leave a note. And another. The less of a stone you are, the more you will notice. And your facade will crack.

And, eventually, it will all rush out. The real tears and the held back screams and the weight, will come out. It might take a week. It might take a month, or a year. But it will happen.

And in the meantime, you aren't alone. That's what I remembered. The good times produce friends, but the worst times illuminate friendships. You might even gain clarity, as I did. I won't bother telling you to feel grateful. You aren't capable of it, not now.

Death...changes people. It changes things, as well. It makes you see that 80 years on the planet is nowhere near enough, and the more you waste, the less time you have to be ok with being a human, being alive. Isn't that what the journey is? Coming to grips with the gift and the curse that is being given a life as a human, and making sure your 80 years did some good. The best thing that death has done for me is remind me that every good thing I do, is not a means to the end, but an piece of something that will someday be illuminated as beautiful. Death is horrible, but it is also a celebration of something we are given for no real reason. Life, in fact, is not a race to the end. It is every day you see something incredible. It is every relationship that gave you acceptance and love. It is feeling the deepest emotions, and knowing that you are the only species that can FEEL, feel terrific pain and extreme anger and incredible, indescribable bliss. That is what death, to me, really was: a reminder that nothing is stupid or not worthwhile, if one day, someone else will want to cry by my photo, cry because I did something for them that no one else ever bothered to do.

You cry because you loved. And you don't stop loving because it's risky, but you gather as much as you can, in hopes that someone will someday cry for you.

That is life. That is death.

And this? This is a funeral. Remember your somber. Your straight face. Do not laugh at the priest. Do not fall asleep during the 4th eulogy, because you are so tired from crying instead of sleeping last night, and this man has a monotone and that church is stifling and you don't even know what you are doing, with your youth and your LIFE, at that place.

Aren't you a blessing? You brought life to the funeral. I have been told that, before. Youth is a gift you give to others.

Remember your training. Remember your civility, your maturity, and your subtlest body language. Remember that this is not about you, as it should be, but about making everyone else comfortable. Remember that this is a social rite, not a true expression of emotion.

And, remember to celebrate. Celebrate the life you have. Celebrate the life you want. And come back to reality with something new.

That is death.