There's something about the sky right now that reminds me of my childhood. The colors. The way they fade and blend and hint at a storm. It's not a threatening storm, though. It's a storm which washes away dust and reminds you of how thirsty you are. Have you forgotten to drink water today? What do you forget and what do you remember? The sky will tell you. Just be quiet long enough to listen.
Today was hard. It was beautiful and holy this morning, but for some reason it went downhill quickly. I was so cruel to myself. Some things never change. But I hope that is one thing that does change. I do not wish to come to the end of my life still an enemy to myself. I do not wish to be so wasteful, so oblivious.
And I'm sorry if I've pushed you away. I push people away for two reasons. One, to think, uninterrupted. Two, to pad myself against an inevitable end, be it death or a breakup or miles and miles and miles between us. The first reason gets my stamp of approval -- for we all need periods of solitude and isolation -- but the second reason is disheartening. And to push someone is so violent. I'm not a violent person, although who knows? Who knows. I may not be physically violent, but I just might be prone to throw out the occasional emotional sucker punch. I am sorry.
It's regrettable. All of this. The violence towards myself and the violence towards any possible intimate relationship with another human. I sever, I suffocate, I silence. I disappear and leave it without looking back. But that's not entirely true. I look back. Oh, how I look back. I am a 21st century pillar of salt. I long for. I linger around. I listen for signs of life in what I have already killed, hoping that time travel is possible, hoping that I can revive what was once alive long enough to look up at the sky with me, hand-in-hand, both of us believing we are brave enough to weather the storm.
And then the clouds crack open and we run for cover. Where is our shelter? Where is our home?