Sometimes having a broken heart is more habit than reality.
"I like that you are cuddly."
I curled tighter, buried my head into the tiny space between his chin and shoulder and folded myself underneath him a bit more. Knees aren’t supposed to bend that way, but ours did. I willingly sacrificed blood flow, joint health and a little bit of freedom to get closer.
"I’m glad." I whispered.
I could have been more honest. I could have said “I can’t help myself. I have no choice but to curl into you. I shatter and rebuild myself in your arms. The weight of you keeps me grounded and lifts me up. I feel like more of myself when I am wrapped in you.”
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t say anything but “I’m glad” because I was still waiting for my mind to catch up with my heart, and still waiting for your heart to catch up with mine.
So I just squeezed a bit tighter, closed my eyes and let the fractures in my heart slowly knit together with each breath we took.
My father turns into a four year old when he wakes up from his naps…
"Who am I? What’s happening? It’s pretty crazy out there……… oh…… I’m just being a silly goose."
I’ve heard it said that we are each connected to our soul mates by an unbreakable thread.
I’ve heard it said that this thread may get tangled, may be stretched by fate and missteps and chance decisions, but it will never break. Taking a different bus on a different day or letting fear override possibility and saying nothing rather than everything will not matter. Because the thread is stronger than any one decision, than any one day.
I don’t believe it.
We get it wrong sometimes. Fate gets it wrong sometimes. Airport goodbyes, unused plane tickets, the fading frequency of texts, a hand written letter that says nothing and yet attempts to fix everything tells me; we get it wrong sometimes. Sometimes geography and doubt win.
I met someone once. He had beautiful blue eyes, the most perfect grey hair. He was generous and wonderful and made me laugh. Two glasses of wine into the evening he told me about meeting his wife. Three glasses of wine into the evening he had sighed with regret over never having a pack of little kids running around his feet. Four glasses of wine into the evening we locked eyes and I thought, “the universe got it wrong this time. I can’t blame it. 20 years is a hiccup in time. A blink. A slip. But 20 years is just long enough for this to be impossible, and just short enough for us to both know it.”
Taking left instead of right. Choosing to say nothing instead of everything. Trying again even though I know it ends in heartbreak.
I think that there is a ribbon that connects us. But the ribbon is more delicate than we imagine. Part stardust, part backbone, part the stories that haunt us and part that feeling you get in your stomach right before something is about to change. A ribbon connects us, but it does get tangled, and it does break.
Instead of ending with the happily ever after, we should be told that yes, there is a ribbon that binds you to the lost parts of your soul. But sometimes, even after you’ve found them, they end up getting lost again.
Today will be:
It is hard to explain the feeling of gentle ease that arrises when I am surrounded by snow. The world gets more quiet , and as I breathe in and out, the silence seems to seep into my heart.
My lungs expand a bit more in the quiet. The clenching around my throat loosens. The feeling of eminent excitement or eminent doom eases and all of a sudden I can live in the moment.
Maybe it is because the snow makes the sky and the ground bleed into each other, so you can’t really tell the difference between up and down. Maybe it is because everyone gets a little bit more playful when there are endless fields of fluffy ammunition. Maybe it is because of these little stories that we tell ourselves, about what happens when the snow falls and the magic rises. The romance that awaits us all just around the corner.
Maybe it is because it brings me back to a childhood where there was no sense of impending doom. Where my decisions had no consequences beyond tomorrow, and where I didn’t know what it meant to have hope because I didn’t need it. Hope is for the future, and the now was perfect.
It is hard to explain the feeling that snow gives me. The warmth that I get when I should feel cold. I want to wrap myself in it. Bury myself below it. Hold my tongue out and catch it. I know it will melt. Just like I know that panic will seep back in and my throat will close and I will glance over my shoulder waiting for the next shoe to drop. But before it melts, I can take a deep breath and almost forget about taking the next step.