two hundred & eighty nine: imagination

i don’t know what we’d do without our imaginations.

this whole blog is based on a cottage by the sea that pocketbrit and i have entirely co-imagined: the fire pit. a swing on the porch. a tall stone fireplace with our worn grey sofa. our new addition, a rocking chair, wide enough to fit small ones and the grown ups who love them.

when we are lonely, and scared, and sad, we have to imagine each other there, together. currently, we don’t live near enough to do anything but that…imagining hugging and being close. imagining snuggling. drinking hot cocoa and walks in the rain and hunting for puppies. weathering storms internal and in the skies both.

but the love here? the closeness, the care, the tenderness? is anything but imagined. our friendship, the respect, the desire to be present for each other? is beyond real.

and means so much more to me than i could have ever imagined.


thirty-three: perpetual

i don’t want to think about this word.

can’t i just refer you to this post and we’ll call it a night? (i think the answer is yes, it’s our fucking blog after all)

or just that this word, and ones like it, just make me feel hopeless and scared and alone? because what fear tells me is that i will be dealing with all of this perpetually? that it is eternal, woven into my DNA and that of my child (and her children and theirs too), this ugliness and shame and grief?

ugh. ugh ugh ugh.

twenty-six: always

this word has been sitting heavily in my gut all day, and until i started writing, i was not even sure why. it just felt…dangerous. pointy. prickly, and overall sore.

maybe it’s coz i don’t believe in always, not anymore. the adult in me knows, has learned, that nothing is for always, nothing is in perpetuity. always is an illusion, an unreachable standard.

however, for my internal wee one…this is the stuff of her dreams. to be loved eternally. to be cherished, no matter what. to forever be supported. (i was just reminded of a story my therapist told me, as per her own therapist from years ago: that when we find ourselves using absolutist terms like always and never and everything and nothing, that it’s a surefire sign that we are young. ha. so there you have it.)

and though i am loathe to pop the fairy tale bubble of always for her, to interrupt the purity of her hope, to break her heart…i am also desperate to protect her, not only from always, but from its equally fatal synonyms, like forevermore. perpetually. invariably. without exception. continuously. uninterruptedly. because, fuck. they all hurt. reek of broken promises, falsehoods, unattainable goals.

and also, because there is such innocence in holding out hope for always. gazing without pollution upon the world, with such simplicity and wholehearted lack of guile. knowing what i know now…was i truly ever that innocent? did i ever even get to dream of forever and always?

i wish i could. i wish i did. i’m sure that i might have, but that level of faith, of simplicity, seems entirely impossible from where i stand now. and the sadness feels like a gulf in my chest.