i don’t think love ever dies, not by itself, no.
I think you can kill it.
rather, I think it can die, but it has to go down violently.
Sometimes it can be so sudden,
like a switch,
an “oh!”
and it’s gone, vanished.
Other times it lingers,
hangs on longer than is healthy.
making its presence known
unpleasantly.
Taunting, but there is no smile, no joke, no closure.
Only unease.
Only anguish.
Not regret, no.
That’s the confusing part.
As angry as I am, still
As angry as I am I know that it was good
Not enough to stay.
Not enough to keep ignoring my own self.
Not enough for who I am now.
Not enough for who I have Become.
Tag: next chapter
7:13a 26th august, 2020
You need to stop what you’re doing and listen to what’s linked below. A love poem to New York by Roger Cohen called “I Forgive You, New York”.
I’d had to stop listening to it when it first aired; too painful. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past fifty-two years, it’s that painful things can’t be avoided forever. I’ve learned how to lean into the pain, breathe through it, adding potsmoke as often as necessary, let it untangle, unsnarl. To understand that not everything that happens is meant to be understood. That in itself has been infuriating, frustrating, obliviating. That even though I am hurt, hurting, in pain. That even though, I can’t be sure that I will ever know why. That I can’t compel the answer. That nothing I can do, no innate power of mine is enough, no existing love and care and kindness is enough, that I have to accept that I may never know. Because even if I went against my nature, blew shit up, caused a lot of unhappiness past my own, that not even that would be a sure thing. And that so many more people would get hurt for nothing.
So I can only appeal to better natures to tell me. I can only be hopeful that better natures exist and that I have not been completely misled for so long.
And if that is the case, then I really, really need to be gentle with myself. Because learning that painful a lesson is going to take a long time to absorb.
i broke my own heart, leaving you.
620p 18th july 2020
do you ever think of me unbidden?
do i ever cross your mind? i wonder.
does my voice pollute your day as yours does mine?
does my face interrupt your thoughts?
i know better than to ask
i don’t want to know, i think.
i finally felt safe, home.
i broke my own heart, leaving you.
i can’t stand to talk to you anymore
the pity in your voice is palpable
i have no idea if it’s real or not
only that it feels real.
desperate for comfort.
so when I think for a second that i want to hear your voice
when i am craving the security I once felt
i do better to remember
that it doesn’t belong to me.
thoughtless. 1027p 9 march, 2020
how dare you.
how dare you ask me if it was wise, crinkling up your face to say no, I don’t think so
“was it wise? to spend so much money on a good mattress?”
HOW DARE YOU.
it isn’t the most expensive mattress, not by far.
it is a good mattress.
a king-size mattress
for my king-size bed
my king-size sheets
my king-size comforters
my king-size blankets.
how DARE you.
I sold my dead husband’s clothes
so that I might have a comfortable place to sleep.
HOW DARE YOU.
To Be Without You (with apologies to Ryan Adams) 17 january, 2020
It’s so hard to be without you (yes it is)
Lying in the bed, you are so much to be without (dear gods more than any one, still)
Rattles in my head that empty drum filled with doubt (not so much doubt, anymore. No.)
Everything you lose, the wisdom will find its way out (this. this. this.)
Every night is lonesome and is longer than before (Not every night. And no.)
Nothing really matters anymore (There are things that really, really do.)
It’s so hard to be without you
Used to feel so angry and now only I feel humble (yes but the timing. not angry anymore. free.)
Stinging from the storm inside my ribs where it thunders (and inside my skull)
Nothing left to say or really even wonder (so much left to say! so much left to wonder, to discover.)
We are like a book and every page is so torn (some can be mended. Some discarded. Some set ablaze.)
Nothing really matters anymore (not in that desperate, urgent way. no.)
It’s so hard not to call you (I listen to your voicemails to me. Mine to you. You saved them.)
Thunder’s in my bones out in the streets where I first saw you (the wind’s been blowing like mad)
When everything was new and colorful, it’s gotten darker (richer, bolder, deeper)
Every day’s a lesson, things were brighter before (every day’s a lesson, things are clearer now)
Nothing really matters anymore (the things that do are still here)
It’s so hard to be without you (it will never be easy)
Everyday I find another little thread of silver (all the better to color purple)
Waiting for me when I wake some place on the pillow
And then I see the empty space beside me and remember
I feel empty, I feel tired, I feel worn (I feel good. I feel alive. I feel ready.)
Nothing really matters anymore (Everything matters.)
2020
It doesn’t feel like it’s 35° out.
As I sit in my backyard, dressed in my dead husband’s jammy bottoms, flip-flops, a Sleepy Hollow Old Dutch Church Fest hoodie (the real Sleepy Hollow, not that bullshit place on TV), a fuzzy green jacket with ears, last night’s makeup on my face, my “t r a n s c e n d e n t” Spotify playlist filling the crisp air, a cup of coffee, and an as-yet unlit little bowl full of weedy goodness, I feel ready. Ready to go.
Ready for this next chapter in what has become This Widow’s Life. “You Are The Best Thing” by Ray LaMontagne is on; I’ve hit shuffle as I always do. I was about to skip through it when I realized, I am the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I am. Me, in my infinite iterations.
Next up is “Dreams” as covered by LÉON. I’ve lit the bowl by now, the beauty of the music wending its way through my brain. “…when the rain washes you clean, you’ll know…” I am enjoying being swept away by the lyrics and emotion and don’t even bother to argue with it as I usually do, “thunder only happens when it’s raining” because THUNDERSNOW.
Tedeschi Trucks now, with “Keep On Growing”.
This is my soundtrack. This is my direction.
Forward, ever forward.
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
Christmakah, 2016/2019
Gary’s last Christmas, at my brother’s house in Connecticut.
We had finally become, after fourteen years together, aware, cognizant, and appreciative of most of each other’s most pressing and (otherwise seemingly) frivolous/unnecessary needs. It’s incredible to me now; just how much time we spent getting to the beginning of clarity. We had it, in the beginning, I think every cerebrally-minded couple does, but then life and mental illness and physical illness and unemployment and underemployment and medication side effects and more flavors of mental illness all dump themselves unceremoniously into the (already) deliciously complex stew that was our relationship.
Both of us stubborn, at times obstinate. Both of us eternal students, intellectuals, always needing to know more, and why. And to then debate both. Ad nauseam. Never satisfied with “author unknown” or “because I said so”. Dear gods no.
I miss watching TV with him. Needing to allow time for discussion and unpacking. Missing so much the back and forth. Not, however, missing the bad bits, and there were some really, really bad bits. Bits where I felt scared for my safety. Where I don’t doubt he was scared for his. I can be pretty fucking scary. Scared because I knew that the nastier it got, the less able I was to back away. Until he’d finally scream full-volume at me, in my face, stomp upstairs (watch that first step, it’s a doozy), and slam the door to his office. Further screaming and literal hysterical crying ensued. On both sides of the door.
I didn’t see how much danger we were in. I didn’t see (and neither did he) just how badly we were hurting each other. We couldn’t understand each other, couldn’t even speak civilly to each other. I know the truly horrific shit I thought about him (and never, ever said, no, not to him) and can never un-experience the truly horrific shit he said to me (no fucking filter on that boy no SIR). So many terrible things. So many red flags. And yet…
We never gave up. Came close a few times.
Lessons of the first 18,032 days of my life. Supernovaed the very next day. Big Bang. Everything coalescing into the shitstorm of the past 833 days and has led me to today, Christmas Day, 2019. More patient and less tolerant. More willing to give people enough rope to hang themselves with, and to then to pull the lever when I’ve had enough. No hard feelings on my end, just no thank you anymore. Unsubscribe and DELETE. No more time for negativity; my brain manufactures enough TYVM.
8:42a, 30 november, 2019
…oh what a world, i don’t want to leave,
there’s all kinds of magic
it’s hard to believe…
all of this, new
all these things, these
discoveries
conversations
realizations
breakthroughs.
I thought you weren’t here to see
I thought I couldn’t share them with you
and now I see how wonderfully wrong I was
…’cause you’re here right now
and I know what I feel…
you are here for every new thing.
all of them.
the you in me sees it all.
*Oh What a World by Kacey Musgraves
Home. 10 November, 2019.
Gary is finally home.
It doesn’t hold all of his cremains that I have left.
It doesn’t have to. It holds enough.
I’ll scatter the rest in places he liked.
I think I can finally go, now.
cannabis diaries – 845p, 6 november, 2019
what this drug allows me to do (you numbskulled, pretty-faced idiot) as you postulated isn’t done by taking away my pain. not at all. what it is doing, however, is turning down the volume a little bit. to a more manageable level of chaos. to separate the noise from the signal. it is allowing me to filter out all of the extraneous thoughts (oh and they are Legion), just flick them away like they were smoke rings. leaving no trace. no impact. just distapeared into the air. it allows my nervous system to not be quite so nervous. to actually be calm. be calmed. to remember kellen’s voice as if it lives in my head now. to comfort me when i need. am needful. am unwell.
my nervousness is so much not a thing any more that i am shocked by its absence. shocked, but quietly so. it seems to take a lot more to get my anger up now, and that i am much slower to even want to. that i more want to turn the feeling over and over, inspecting it, finding its flaws. taking them apart. fixing them, or discarding what i don’t need. moving forward.
(and this is the very last time that i will think of you in relation to my wellness. since i know that you don’t read my work it won’t make a whit of difference to you but it makes all the world of difference to me.)
The Salty Widow 