three / two

yesterday i realized: one month. one whole month. one broken month. without. a month empty and full, a month taken away and given. i made it through. i bear the scars. i run my fingers along the seam of my soul and it feels torn but new.

sometimes the music can't be loud enough, i need it more, i want it to replace the keening wail inside me, but even the highest volume doesn't drown out my grief. and other times i don't want any music, any sound. nothing seems to touch what i feel - and if it can't speak for me, i don't want it at all. in the silence that falls over me and sinks into my skin like a ghost, i hear things. my questions echo in long hallways. i don't know if it is divine murmuring or my own hopeful voice that i hear. so i tune out my own ears and let the tears slide into them, ringing their tune as they spiral down.

the best times are when i can find a medium between the screaming need for sound and the absolute rejection of it. i put in a CD and drive, vaguely aware of the road, lost in a safe place where my thoughts don't attack me and the ragged wail has lost its power. i am suspended in a place of being okay, of wanting to eat, of dreaming dreams for myself again. the faces of friends who love me flood my mind. i can think about the future. i envision myself cresting an impossibly green ridge in australia, throwing my arms wide to the incredible space, falling to my knees and feeling whole.

today the snow blew off the trees in tiny handfuls, in slow motion. i'm gonna steer clear, he sang. burn up in your atmosphere. i squinted lightly against the glare of the white world. i don't know how to land and not race to your door. i'd die if i saw you, die if i didn't see you there. i felt the sadness begin to cut and i pushed it away. i stared at the sky that still held thoughts of snow. i listened to the guitar and pressed "repeat," letting the joy and sorrow wash over me like a tide.