But for now, the present
On an autumnal renewal and not much context at all.
Where do we all go when we’re done with each other?
Well, I for one have found myself lifted from a past life already and transported from friend’s flat to friend’s flat. I familiarise myself with that which is not mine— test the pressure of the water in their shower, make coffee with a kettle I know he would have loved. I strike up solidarity with both of their cats. We ride out the rest of this month together.
With what little sun we have left, I try to stay warm. This neighbourhood feels atop a hill, even if not so. It is the effect of a high rise perhaps. Somehow the wind catches me waist up and I rack up an unrelenting cough. I’ve taken out the scarf that wasn’t even meant to be mine and wear it with affection. It’s my kind of blue and I wear it well, I’ll give myself that.
When it was still Summer just a few weeks ago, the sun shone onto the wall where I’d pinned up a letter— assembled words of courage I’d written to myself from three specific conversations I had with people in my life in the space of a week. This was the first item in a series of acts of love to myself after we came undone.
When we finally learn to speak our minds after having been torn down, it’s revealing who then knows how to listen. I say know because that’s the difference. It’s never just anybody— because in our gaping wound, we wouldn’t be sharing ourselves with just anybody. I hadn’t quite expected who I’d find listening. I think they’ve surprised themselves for becoming such a fierce listener to these parts of me, too.
And after we’re listened to, what we do with the realisation, the learning, and the impossible reality of having been extraordinarily, even uncharacteristically vulnerable to yourself and the person listening— is terrifying. With our best intentions we can embark on our most well-meaning attempt at holding each other closer than ever. We all know there’s a lot more to it. That takes guts.
People will do what they feel is right. I think we’re meant to let them have their way. Yes, we stand up for ourselves. We come into each others’ lives and teach each other something of immense intimacy and courage. We take up new impossible shapes and summon everything we’ve got. Sometimes it’s never enough.
It is so important to me that we believed in our future future.
But for now, the present.
That which is fleeting is so very special. I’ve been so touched by this moment in time.
It's been a long time since I read your writing, and I miss it.