Elusive

I want to write.

I’ve craved it for weeks.
An omen welling up. A portent.
Murmurs of words and feelings threaten to howl.

But there is no moon.
And my lungs are bruised.

A song of wisps.

Reaching through the fog.
To take initiative. Evanescent trust.
To seek connection, audience, witness.
To offer comfort.

Ever cringing at the possibility–words are measured around me.
Cragged hands extended, once soft–now scarred and muddy.
Hesitating; second guessing a choice to engage.
They’re not pretty anymore.
Bowed at the thought that I’m marked
and others need to escape my gaze.
Voice caught. Awkward again.

Ten minutes. That will do.
Duty served. Pledges complete.
She’s ok.

She’s the strongest person I know.

Bloody thorns–to reach out first again and again.
Holding back the event horizon.
I will only be first so many times
before I relax and give in to the waves,
watching you peacefully
from the drifting deep,
at one with the seaweeds.

I will watch and listen from the other room,
remembering our once mingled laughter.
I’ll read your books and treasure your sorrows;
provide sanctuary when you pass through.

I’ll watch you walk away and never return.

The silent cornerstone balanced on a pedestal,
until the earth shakes again. Silly human.
The scaffolding of friendship doesn’t work that way.

It is challenging to reach out and preserve,
much less nurture a one-sided companionship.

But this is my blog–a reflection.
And I guess that means my struggle
on this one-way street
is with me.

—
June 23, 2022
12:21am