hearthurt glad

Positive that I should be asleep, or working, or somehow forward moving. But this is, this is in the big deep ways. I haven't written - really written - in at least 6 months. I feel fragile and vulnerable and yet completely clear and strong and solid standing.

I always forget what words do for me. Ground me, lift me. Find me.

I know I needed this tonight, but couldn't break away from should-do to get to need-to-do. So now dark silence and a bright computer screen and a second (third) glass of wine.

Oh, I've been here. So often, too often. In curled up couches, or quiet corners. In open rooms and back alleys. I have found words in every space. I am feeling fully tonight. Good, sweet. Build-my-home full up on life. Silence between soul-sisters. Sweet tears watching babies grow up. And hard. So much hard. I'm seeing in quick tempers and raised voices and scalding tears how much the past few years have carved out of me. Into me. A totem.

I'm skittish late at night and sometimes, on the hard days, in the glaring sun. I worry and work myself up and drive around in circles avoiding streets we ran. I drive by bricks that hold my beginnings and ends and it astonishes me. It was yesterday and a different life. Staggered steps and chains and broken floorboards and so much heart hurt. I drive by and it's amazing I survived that season after season at all. I drive by and wonder if anyone sees those shadows in my eyes. I drive by, rarely, but with intent. I drive our memory lanes and sometimes smile. I drive and drive and try and try.

And then, I drive a little faster, and turn down a road I hardly know. And find myself in a place I call home. In a place that feels safe. I am still skittish, it's my nature. I am still all the things I've always been. But that clench of fear is gone. I am in a bubble. I wondered if I was running, thinking that was a mistake. It was not. I ran from something that sucked up the air from my lungs. I ran from something that didn't belong. I ran, and took my heart with me.

And am I still running? Or, am I faltered? Another, another stepping stone? I am tired worn to the bone of walking these endless paths to somewhere else. I want to stay. I want forever home love life.

Why the fear in admission? Am I not supposed to want or dream or hope? Am I supposed to lower standards? Or raise them up and hold high?

I'm playing little heart games with myself tonight. For nights in a row. Of you don't mean that don't say that. But, I do. And where's the harm in that? In meaning it and saying it and dreaming it? I am. Fully aware and conscious even in half sleeping slumber. Will the data matter, or will it just be more on a never ending pile? My spreadsheets are full, I'm done.

And then, in late nights, I feel the creep up my back of why why why and remember panic in my chest that locked me up away. I remember my words coming out silent and my tears falling and nothing nothing nothing stopping it. Love, that is.

Would I want, be ready for, that? Again?

I wish sometimes I could say no. I'm not ready don't want push it away. It's like I'll never learn.

And truthfully, I'm so unbreakable-y glad. I've never learned to stop loving dreaming wishing wanting seeing the best.