Dear Love Artist,
The first night I slept in your daughter's princess bed ( I had a princess bed, too) I cried out twice as I felt myself falling asleep. I have never done this. The first time, it took me a minute to accept that it wasn't someone else. It seemed too close.
It was some sort of release that wasn't fear, (your precious cat was guarding me).
Your blog today:
'sometimes you can just touch the air between & call something to you, call something home, call something home like finally, like relief.'
Coming to you, the Hudson train ran by its great, grey river, and I thought about the same journey made by a man following a migration home:
Geese honk outside your window. I think of V's. I think of familiarity. I think of hope.
'The Sunshine Stories 1', Tifenn Python
I said to you, "I hope there's hope for me". You repeated this to me, I don't know what you were thinking.. I scoffed, embarrassed. But I do.
You apologised in advance in case I thought you were mothering me. I thought, "I would never complain about you mothering me". I feel cocooned here. You cocoon me.
Perhaps I have come home to myself.
To:firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: les questions Apr 18 9KB
There are so many.I am just going to let them tumble forth. I was writing this morning about how I was worried that my questions would bore you or they would be questions you had been asked many times before. And then writing, that in the spirit and aim of learning to love (myself included) more honestly and fully, I can only come with myself and what I have to ask. Even if I am not as articulate as I am capable of being, or my mind is not tailgating and catching up with its sharpness as much as I know it is capable of. Perfectionism is exhausting. I am trying to be a recovering perfectionist. The phrase that came in my head was that i was 'grasping with silky fingers'. As in, I am trying to not try too hard, but at the same time, push myself to catch at the something more that I know is there to wonder about, and that i want to know. Do myself justice. But the 'justice' is my ego, which needs love, silky fingers, gentleness, unperfection.
So here goes:
I littered you with questioning hearts.
When you walked in to my questions, Romeo was bleeding.
Your first question to me, when we met in The Love Shack, was something like, "Are you in love with anyone?".
I hesitated and said "I am trying to be in love with myself".
Romeo is still bleeding.
The State We're In:
Yesterday we surrendered to the state, synchronitically.
Your beautiful teeth played up.
I gave up on whatever I thought I should be doing too, and played.
You enable me.
Just by being yourself.