There are promises that were meant to be kept--serving more as a reminder than any actual memory. There is an absence
that is felt, but not dwelled on. Then one day, you find out what's missing was as near as the air around you and the words come.
I suppose that I'm way past due with sending words...
I've wanted to, really. I've wanted to put here thousands and thousands of words that weave themselves into just a few thoughts that are magic.
Following this want is a great curiosity--and I can't help but wonder if I'm better for sending you the world I've manipulated to suit me or the wavering truths
of what really is there.
And then, following this is the sense that my intent, from the beginning, is now damaged and too thought out. So nothing comes and I have no great excuse except that maybe I think too much
And the ouroboros spots its tail as I realize that I'm way past due with sending words.
I want, now, to tell you about the past couple of days...
I want to tell you about digging through candles that have been tossed, without love, into a discount bin. They were scratched, bumped and not quite as lovely as the ones allowed to remain on the shelf. I chose a few that needed love, including one that had AT ♥ EB
scratched into it. I couldn't help but wonder how long the person with my initials would love EB but I hope that they outlast the candle
. The scent, which I'm unsure of since the bottom tag was gone, is heavenly. It's a shame, really, that people have forgotten that, save illumination, the scent is why most people make the purchase. Tonight, shadows
will dance along my walls.
And I want to tell you about this two hour despair I had that was near to heartbreaking. I felt, all at once, that I couldn't be any more sad. I thought of old sweaters
, lullabies and of leaning into your back
and crying until it was all gone...
a sad memory to float away.
And then about how I went outside where dreams were falling to the earth as near as a block away but not around me. What I saw, instead, was a patch of weeds parading as flowers
so well that I felt the urge to stuff several of them into random glasses. I had a room of yellow fluff--selling sunshine and bringing sniffles, but making me very happy. It did not, though, cancel out the feeling of the shuttle returning in pieces. There are not really words for that
or for them.
And there is more i'd like to tell you--hundreds of things...
ideas, wants, memories, fairy tales.
The questions you've asked, the things you wanted to know...
I haven't forgotten any of it.
There are promises
, sometimes, that are tucked away for so long they may seem forgotten. When stumbled back upon, said promises are like two cupped hands held out--waiting. I hope that you leave satisfied.
It's so hard to say that I missed you now that I know you've been here all along, as near as the air around me.