Cure

February beats me to the ground - March is proceeding to fill the earth above me.
(Journal excerpt, March 2013)

The days pass in a rush of work and exhaustion; I sleep at ten and wake from strange dreams not knowing where I am. I spend a dark weekend in anxiety, a ball of hot molten lava searing through my gut and defenses. She writes from across the ocean and misses her home in the City; she sends old pictures of the way things were, and the pain of her departure rips through you across the pages. You lie on your bed for hours, wondering how you will ever merge all the homes of your heart and the questions you have yet to answer. A soft voice in your ear tells you to take deep, healing breaths but every time you try, all you get are tears.

Perhaps this is my automatic reaction. Push myself in the mud at first taste of rain.

But I ran along the river at dusk tonight, the water was quiet and still, it looked soft like silk and I wanted to run my fingers along its surface. At the very tip of the Christopher Street pier, when you turn back, you can see the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Times Square and the Freedom Tower all at once, sprinkled gems in a twinkling skyline, and it filled me with such immense joy that I forgot my despair.

In a life of so much heartache, it's a beautiful thing to be reminded what love is.