Experimenting with different borders for my blankets. I really love the scallop one (second photo)
Even now, over five years later, my mind goes back to him, or not him exactly, but the experience of being cracked open. I was telling a friend the other day that I wonder who I would be right now if I had not met him, if he had stayed a stranger and never come into my life.
I was telling her that I have intense moments when I wish none of it had happened because he left me with a desire that I cannot contain. That's what it means to be cracked open—you bleed, you ooze, you leak, everything you suppressed spills out.
He stirred the desire, and left me to carry it. He showed me what I had been missing, and now I must grieve my own unlived life. It is the deepest grief I have ever known, next to the grief of losing my parents.
What I felt for him awakened me, and it showed me how much I wanted to live. That's why I know it had to happen, no matter how much I protest. Isn't that what love is ultimately about—wanting to be alive? I finally chose life, and I keep choosing it every day.
I thought, if my mother died, I would find the nearest bridge and plunge into oblivion. But that is not what I have done. Almost a year after her death, I am still here. I'm crawling, but I'm here. I'm terrified, but I'm here. I'm heartbroken, but I'm here. I'm achingly alone, but I'm here. Most people have forgotten me, but I am here.
"Soften" by Laura Misch
Oh my love
be tender with yourself