The jagged horizon, dimly it glows.
Is it from fires the sun left behind?
Or the chariot trail of Helios?
The night never leaves us completely blind.
Maybe Orion lent heaven his belt
To keep the far ends of the earth contained?
Perhaps halos of fallen angels melt
To contribute to that warm light maintained?
Not even the wind whispers an answer,
The silence choking the thin, mountain air.
The constellations become slow-dancers
The longer we find ourselves laying there.
_____Faint comets tear the atmosphere in two.
_____The only thing keeping me warm is you.
Even though I was soaked from head to toe, it didn’t feel like enough. It was never enough. I waded farther and farther into the water itself, until I floated underneath the surface, listening to the rain pound above me. I held my breath as long as I could. Until the beating of my heart was louder than the rain stabbing into the waves. Then I would go to the surface and breathe. I went down several times, each time hoping that instead of just on the outside, the water around me would cool my insides. I was hot. I could feel the heat I left behind in the water when a wave would push me forward or back. I seemed to exude some sort of energy that would not let up. I felt like the sun in a subzero universe. I was hot, but all around me, it was cold. The ocean and the universe then seemed to me interchangeable. The ocean gnawed away at the edges of the earth, eroding it, expanding its reach. And the universe did the same, except it ate away at the edges of Heaven, pushing it farther and farther away from us.
“Defying the clouds smothering the darkened sky, stars seeped from the haze to the ground in the form of fireflies. Snagged in branches, hanging from the grasses, reflected in the dew, constellations rearranged themselves; gods and heroes returned to the earth. Legend lived in light cradled by the night.”
Trees line the pale shore,
their roots: the seams of the earth;
the waves: cruel fingers.
I don’t exactly know how to start, but I suppose starting with an apology might be the most appropriate way to do so.
I’m sorry I’ve been such a crazy bitch lately.
Maybe you’ll argue with my harsh diction, or maybe you’ll agree; I don’t know. All I’m saying is that I feel like a crazy bitch, and I couldn’t be more sorry for it.
Being more than one thousand miles away for nearly three months doesn’t help this whole communication process. Even when I’m in the same state, though, I detach myself. We both do, in our own ways. Everyone everywhere is always saying that communication is key. And I laugh at the fact that it is probably the one area I honestly cannot grasp. I never could. And I could trace it all the way back into my past, but I won’t, luckily for you. But I want to at least make sure you know it’s not just you I keep quiet around. It’s everyone.
This is the part where I explain why I’ve been so awful. I’m not making excuses for myself.
I’m hoping you remember when I told you I wanted to tell you something, but couldn’t. Or, rather, I didn’t want to get ahead of myself and make you worry for no reason. That “something” is what has been making me unfairly and particularly touchy. About a month ago, my mom got an eviction notice in the mail saying we had to be out of our house by August 2nd. Paperwork was frantically filed, however, and after calling the bank so many times, we still have no idea what is going on. We don’t know if the bank will somehow renegotiate our mortgage, or if they’ll still make us get out, just at a later date.
For a while, I was thinking I was going to have to come home before the second of August in order to somehow salvage all of my belongings. My grandma was saying things about getting rid of our pets. I was even wondering, if the need ever did arise, if I could ever ask you to take Birdis for me for a little while, destroying my dignity in the process. For weeks, I was contemplating and trying to familiarize myself with the concept of flying back into Atlanta knowing I had no home to return to.
The inane level of uncertainty in this whole situation is what drove me to silence. Not only that, but my mother forbids me from discussing these things most of time – like she did regarding the condition of her relationship with Chris. But I guess – no, I know, that I contribute to it, too. It’s not exactly my idea of a nice conversation, having to explain to someone that my life is falling apart. If we do end up getting evicted, this will be the second time we have been forced from our home. How much of a failure is my life?
In short, I am miserable. I was miserable when you were here, and I am miserable now. And I am just so incredibly sorry that my misery comes out in such a way that makes me unbearable. It seems like nearly every time I talk to you, I end up freaking out by the end of it. I really don’t mean to. You are the last person I want to be that way with. I know that probably too often I’m not too convincing when I say it, but I love you, and all of the things you say to and do for me I appreciate beyond measure. Even though I barely got to see you when you came to visit, being able to come home to you, as tired and in as much pain as I was after working, was so wonderful. And I miss it so much. I miss you. And it just kills me that as I count down these days until I come back, the promise of being closer to you is so harshly offset by the chaos I’ll be returning to. There is just so much bad competing with the good that I find myself floating in a sort of sad exhaustion located in-between.
I know you say you can’t empathize and cannot comfort, but I’m looking for neither with this. I just wanted to explain what was going on so you didn’t think I was lashing out at you because of you. So whether or not you get an emotional reaction from this doesn’t matter to me. These are the facts. And I know it might seem silly for me to be so open with this when I’m about to say that I would rather not discuss this too much, but that is also true. And please do not use this as a way to bring yourself down, either. I know you think your “depression,” for the lack of a better word, is unwarranted and whatnot; mine is merely situational. It will be resolved eventually. But that doesn’t mean what you feel from time to time is any less genuine or important. This may be a strange way to end this, but I felt like I needed to emphasize that.
Thank you for reading.