until i don't.

keep moving
keep going
keep cleaning
and following behind
she's allowing a guilt complex to set in.
there's a strange taste in my mouth about it.
she's allowing all of the things she said she wouldn't.
doing it all wrong.
and that's what she said from the start.
the theme, if you will.
she knew it from the very moment it began.
it's always those trigger moments...
when you're talking and no one heard you.
the stories you told that no one was listening to.
you're recording their words... making mental notes for later...
cherishing
transcribing from head to heart
just the day to day
just so that they feel like someone was listening.
age plays into it.
that's alright then.
some are just learning how.
there's your pass, then, darling.
but the excuse for the rest?
i can't be so sure.
and the shock and horror when they find out you question
but they weren't listening.
i see it.
i let it.

my phone was ringing
and i answered...
hands still soapy.
i knew. oh how i knew.
i told her i knew.
i tried to make my words wrap round her.
but she knew best.
she always knows better.
my words meant nothing.
my voice meant nothing.
it wasn't needed.
it wasn't wanted.
she wanted my silence.
she wanted my ear.
and she'd loathe my silence and beg me to speak.
but shun my words again and again.
til they were echoed in another place.
i see it.
i let it.

the phone was ringing
pulsing twice each time.
a million memories flooded back
but as i was met with the answerphone...
i realized there wasn't time
there wasn't any time.
my voice wasn't wanted.
my voice wasn't needed.
he wanted silence.
my eyes to see.
to understand.
and exist - but don't move.
i see it.
i let it.

we were sitting.
i asked and the words came slow at first...
and then like a torrent.
i raced to catch them all
to record them
to detail them
to remember
to behold.
and as i knelt there,
the silence followed
so i spoke
my words like wine poured out and wasted
he was bored
it didn't matter
it won't be remembered
it wasn't wanted.
it wasn't needed.
he wanted silence
to continue
to be indulged.

and i see them.
and i let them.

until i don't.

You win some, you lose some.
You keep some, you leave some.
Some stay, some go.
Little sayings.
You can say them best when in hindsight.
When the emotion isn't blaring quite so much.
Or perhaps, at first, before it kicks in.
One day, when you're feeling a little low...
when your immune system security has been breached,
you'll feel it.
The words will ring true, but feel trite.
And once you feel better, they'll ring true, and feel like a strength...
like steel reinforcements holding your bones together.
They talked of funerals and weddings.
We shook with fright for the loss of it all.
And the wedding dress looked like her soul was in mourning.
And the goodbyes resounded with hope and bright-eyed souls broke into hymns...
as you were lowered,
as they were lifted.
I'm not one to write or speak in that sort of tone.
I'm not one to dwell on the morbid without care.
My mind is too heavy for such things.
I feel too much.
Rational.
Irrational.
But, speak your piece.
Speak your peace.
I remember some friendships with more fondness than past lovers.
As past lovers.
As another who perceived my mind and my heart and my soul and my personality...
and adored it.
And that is why friendships outlive some of the 'falling in love'-ships by years
And that is why the truest live forever.
And so, before I go about my day, I'll say this.
It isn't one.
It isn't all.
It's just some.
It's just an aimless wandering through those feelings.
It's just my thoughts, man.
It's just careless and yet so full of care.
So, if you're reading, don't go reading into it.
If you're listening, don't go digging to find the lines.
If you're unwrapping, well have a look and then, just taste it.
It may just be a fit of madness.
It may just be a spell of depression.
It may be that I am submerged in a well of revelry.
Whatever it is, it just is.
And, I'll have you know that there are some that I miss.
There are some that I am relieved of their departure.
      and then I feel a little sick for the investments of myself into the dark,
      strange and ungrateful black holes that occupy a human life.
There's so much more to be said.
More songs to weave.
It's all coming in waves, dear.
So wait for the next...
for the storms
for the doldrums
but they'll come.
In a thousand ways...
a thousand shapes...
the waves
they'll come.

It's cold outside.
It feels like the perfect day for snow.
I tried taking a nap.
The bedroom feels so soft with the little lamp lit, and candles flickering and dancing and jumping.
But softly.
Waiting on water to boil for tea.
Yes, we are still in that proverbial season too.
Books and magazines beg me to read them.
The couch calls.
I dream of decorating for Christmas... just a little, so it feels magical.
I dream of one of those lovely red throw blankets to crawl inside.
I daydream of furniture shopping...
and decorating my little home.
But it isn't my little home, exactly.
It's where I grew up.
I'm happy.
I'm content.
I ache.
I'm impatient.
All at the same time, in only the way that a woman seems to be able to be.
I am the flag on the rope in a game of tug of war.
The fibers of my bones are cracking, and I'm really not sure why.

i tried falling asleep last night and found myself back at one of my very first jobs.
reliving all sorts of moments.
and second by second details come raining back in.
at one point, it seemed like such a vague and distant memory.
by the end, i could smell the office and hear the way the door opened and closed.
i remembered their voices and accents.
i felt the crush of my very first broken heart and the stir craziness i would succumb to.
i felt sorry for my young self... like ebenezer scrooge visiting the shadows of his past.
i felt embarrassed for the lessons i would later learn.
i felt happy for the progress that had taken place in my head and in my heart.
i watched the specters glide in and out of the room.
conversations.
i was so young.
i was only a girl.
i remembered my suit.
i remembered just wanting that bmw... and $7000 was such a fair price.
i enjoyed the attention.
i was broken, and it made me feel alive.
i was only a girl, then.
just a naive and curious girl.

Sitting with my tea in hand.
Back in the present.
Too cold and then too hot.
I think I'm coming down with something.
There's a thousand things that need to be done.
And a thousand and one more, I'd like to do.
I need someone to listen.
A snowflake to fall.
An idea... a lightbulb to flash...
An opportunity to take.
I need something.
I need nothing.
I need everything.
I just can't put my finger on it.

avant l'impasse

i think we're lost.
my voice sounded so strange and even foreign.
like when you say a word over and over until it sounds silly.
so i thought maybe i'd gone crazy for a moment;
and i let the silence swallow the words whole
praying they'd erase them from short term memory.
everything looks familiar.
everything looks right.
but something isn't.
and i'm dumbfounded that no one else can see that the house is upside down.
i keep telling myself it was designed this way...
that there's something else amiss...
the color? the shutters?
but it wasn't
and there isn't.
it's a blaring, obvious statement.
underlined, emboldened and colored in red
scrawled on a perfectly clean living room wall
and you cannot miss it.
we're lost.
i found a side street i'd never been down,
and it felt good to notice something new in this place i know like the back of my hand.
but it isn't like that, here.
no, i'm scared as hell.
and i wandered down another street and found a wooded sanctuary.
we stayed there a while
too cool in the shade on a late november day
but i stayed a while to pray
the pine needles spread under us like a welcoming carpet
i forgot it all as we moved
as we laughed
as we spoke
and all too soon, as though i'd said, "amen"
the spell broke
a stranger too close to the car
just leaving advertising
just leaving a note.
we walked past the tennis courts
humming
a little post script psalm
because i hope you know that it isn't quite as simple as it seems
it's all very well, indeed to say so
to say that this is this
and that is that
and the contract states
and now it is broken
but it isn't quite so easy.
it's never black and white...
or perhaps it is, and we wish so badly for a gray area to make it a little easier.
i'll ask a little longer
i'll wait a little while more
but we are nearing the end of the well
draining the seas
and i'm asking for rain
or for this one to stand up
don't remain silent.
don't stay seated
it will all disappear
and i tried so hard.

queen.

I'm still waiting.
It feels like I'm sitting on the other side of a chess board... waiting. I'm not even sure whether or not it's my turn... or am I playing both sides of the match?
Waiting on ________________.
Always waiting for someone to make their move.
Preparing for my next move.
Hurry up and wait.
Waiting on inspiration... hah! As though it's a taxi on the way to me? I should at least know that by now. No. It's an elusive creature to be chased. And even then... it will have its way with me when it is good and ready. But, I must always be in the ready.
So I'm outlining... blueprinting... planning... piecing it all together;
but there's always a missing puzzle piece that I need.
Like some kind of furniture waiting to be assembled, but they've left out a very important screw.
I feel caught in a relentless play of tug-of-war.
to : Be present.
to : Plan for the future.
to : Learn from the past.
and Write!
Write about... what I feel? What I've felt? It's for the future!
And time slips...
Just write, woman!
Oh GOD!
My mind is a runaway carousel of thoughts and whims and moving parts and symphonies... and I just need to find the structure in it. The rhythm in the chaos. The song in the hum. The dance in the sway.
I will!
But, the tension is maddening.
The wait...
Because this... this is supposed to be the autumn of my youth...
Because I have so much of myself to give to her...
Because I have so much to give...
Because I have so much to say...
And I stayed silent so long, I've become used to it.
Waiting for this novocaine to wear off so it won't sound quite so jumbled and slurred.
But, can I put it in the right way? Can I make you feel it? Can I translate it to your heart? Or to your mind?
I'm not quite ready to lay these dreams to rest... I just can't.
They still keep me up at night.
They beckon when it's quiet.
They beg me to sing it out... to write it out...
To make her proud...
They hunt me and haunt me... they inspire me and fill me... they push me and pull me... they awaken me and comfort me...
They will not leave me alone.
But these x factors... these missing screws...
I'm scanning the board to make my move.
Bold and excited with some sort of rejuvenation...
blooming... unfolding... glowing
And a little timid, because wisdom warns of checkmates...
So much power.
So much vulnerability.
And it should make perfect sense
because, after all, my dear...
I have become the queen.

three coins in a fountain. [about a girl]

I wished to be
That interesting.
That beautiful.
In that startling, jarring sort of way.
That impressive
The sort of ease that permeates each movement.
To paint... fantastic realism
A realistic fantasy
Or sing with those buttered tones that just slip
from note to note
like drops of water
from leaf to leaf
With the delicacy of a petal...
see-through thin sheet
But the power of an ocean
A lion
roaring
The sort of muse...
The only sort of muse
That steals hearts and souls
With just a look
Just one
Every bit of the way
From the tousle of the hair
hands
eyelash
the curve of her cheek
lips
frame - strong - slender
like a dancer
always moving
in motion to some music that everyone can hear
but isn't ever playing
fingerprints
like permanent markings on the brain
the iris
the heart
the very soul
stolen.
the kind that move the great men to paint
to write
to sing forever
to sweat for gold and diamonds
to wrap round her finger
to hunt, to win, to adore
always
since as long as i can remember
i wished.
i wished.
i wished to be.

It's been so long since I've had a seat in this corner of the room to write.
Everything feels so familiar.
Everything feels so different.
There's comfort in it.
There's an unrest in it.

Home.

It's good to be here.

It's good to be home for the holidays. That's been a while too.
This year is taking some unusual amounts of self control not to get the festivities started early.
I have a rule that I cannot begin to "deck the halls" until the day after Thanksgiving.
I have a winter playlist for now, of all of the songs that don't mention Christmas... just to tide me over.
Why do we rush to skip over the thanks?
Just to stop and enjoy the leaves turning...
Slow down.
Cooler weather...
Breathing...
Why are we in a rush to rush?
Rather than look around and say... yes. Yes! Thank you.
A grateful heart.
Why do I rush to ask how I feel?
Feel.
FEEL.
feel.
Rather than just be here.
Am i doing myself an injustice to delay the asking? Perhaps I've gone numb for too long and that's why I'm seated here writing for an audience of who-knows-how-many-actually-read-this-thing-anymore...
Am i doing an injustice by asking, rather than processing the world at large in new ways each day?

My little one has my heart strings in a flutter.

Do i even have what it takes to make you feel // fathom // understand // empathize with me?

Isn't it good to question your ability? To ask, do i even have what it takes anymore? Did I ever?

Funny thing is, 2 years from now, I may look back on this very entry with that 20/20 vision and say, "ugh to write that way again."
Or I may say...
"ugh. what was i writing?!"

Or perhaps we reach seasons in life when we realize we just want and, in fact, need to be adored.
It isn't enough to be liked.
We've poured out our souls for years.
Poured out our love again and again.
Hoping for it to become a stream in the desert... but it felt like a wasted offering.
That burning desire to be wanted... to be needed... sure. But, to be desired.
To be held.
To be appreciated... but something heavier than that.
To be ravaged... to have someone thirst for who you are at the core.
Sometimes you need to know someone is in love with you. Madly.
To be caught up in some wild love affair.
Stir up those embers!
Catch fire in my bones!
Burn up all of the dormant places and lets be alive again!

I'm weary of old patterns.
Old ways.
Old designs.
The dark repetition.
The chains of inadequacy.
The brainwashing systems of comparison.
Seasons be damned!
I'll bloom in the dead of night, in the middle of winter.
I'll defy the logic and the absolutes in black and white.
But only if you'll grant me this.
Only if the original breath will sigh into me.

Dear Nashville, [You give me mountains and valleys, but I need the sea.]

In you, I've found some of my sweetest and dearest friends.
In you, I've found some lost souls that I wish I'd never met.
In you, I've danced.
Danced as hard as I could in the lights, in the rain, in the night.
In you, I've sipped wine at the top of love's circle.
In you, I've been dolled up.
Painted faces in a pillow fight!
In you, I've laughed.
In you, I've wept.
In you, I've been encouraged.
In you, I've been remembered.
In you, I've been forgotten.
In you, I've been challenged.
In you, I've been cheered.
In you, I've been jeered.
In you, I've been...

broken...
hit...
lied to...
cheated...
cheated on...
bruised...
tricked...
violated...
raped...
left...
excommunicated.
In you, I've known love and I've lost it.
In you, I tried hate for the first time.
In you, I tried beer again, and found I like it.
In you, I've made mistakes... I've tried to mend them...
I've cared too much... I've cared too little.
I danced into your walls, strong and beautiful... feeling everything... singing loud...
I have run away from you, broken and fragile... wounded... defeated.
And run back again.
I've longed for you.
I've dreamt of you.
I've fought for you.
I've fought you.
The last couple of years have been especially bittersweet.
I've made unpopular decisions and as a result lost friends and companions. I've been uninvited, watching on the outside. I've been alienated.
I'm not one for lying, and I won't start now... it hurt. It still hurts, worse than some of the more obvious devastating blows.
And to all of you involved, I truly hope it was worth it.
But, I will not allow the bitterness to swallow up the sweet.
Because there have been some rich times. Some sweet times.
I've been immersed and come up new.
I've been proposed to.
I gave birth to the sunshine of my world. The darling of my life. My firstborn. My sweet baby Ayla.
Thank you to everyone who has and continues to celebrate her with me.
For all of the beautiful things, I am grateful.
And life is beautiful.
Beautiful.

And, now, it's time to leave you.
I'll leave behind the loneliness. The abandonment. The anger.
The shame.
I believed for so long that it belonged to me.
I believed it was me.
I believed I was worth that... I believe, I was wrong.
I'm sorry, if I've hurt you. Wounded you. Troubled you. Angered you.
I'm sorry for my part.
Like the feeling lost in text... all of the
M I S C O M M U N I C A T I O N .
forgive me.
and i, you.

some left scars and some left beautiful tattoos.
i'll always have them.
and they'll always remind me of you.

I'll take with me the good times. The lovely things. The sweet hours.
The hearts that have loved me in good times, in strange times, in the darkest hours. The ones who stayed when it was easy and stayed when it was hard. The ones who'd never say that it was hard, because I mean the world to them, and they mean the world to me. The ones who stayed awake. Porch hangs, dinner dates, roommate bonding times, walks in the park and photo shoots and coffee and breakfast - in the morning and in the middle of the night.
Thank you for the love that can't be stolen. For the friends who will always be thick as thieves. thank you for your kindnesses and for being my family, when my family was so far away.
Thank you for inviting me into your homes to take care of your children.
for making me part of your family.
Thank you for seeing me, and allowing me to see you.
Thank you for sharing your secrets and holding mine.
Thank you for knowing me and allowing me to know you.
My heart bursts when I think of you. You all know who you are.
I've got a suitcase crammed with songs that will always always always make me smile... and take me back to that day, that hour, that moment.  Another filled with all of the kind words and sweet things you've said or written that you probably don't remember saying, but I'll never ever forget.

I could say a hundred other things.
But, I'll leave it here.
Unpacking and packing.
And on that note,
I'll raise a toast
To new beginnings.
To shaking off the dust.
To leaving it behind...
To carrying your love with me.
To hope.
To redemption.
To loving well.
To being loved.
Onward and upward.
Here, here!
x

induced coma. [come awake]

I was looking for a photo in the archives here, because I couldn't remember the name of an artist.
I found myself skimming less and less and falling into the rhythm of each post. Memories came back that I'd long forgotten, and I could vividly feel and smell each second moving in days I will never forget.

I was so alive then.

What's interesting, is that I know how very dead I felt in some of it. I sometimes felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, hanging on for dear life to some proverbial rope.  I felt everything so deeply, and allowed myself to feel it all. The good. The bad. The great. The small. I felt so insecure in my abilities, and I feel like I'm looking at the entries of a stranger... a stranger who amid all of the chaos, had such a deep profound confidence.

That girl back there was on fire. Wrestling. Questioning. Blossoming. Glowing. Screaming. Shouting. Flying. Climbing. Running.

I miss that girl.

That woman.

I can say a few things happened that hurt me; broke me in a very profound way.
I think for a while, I was in some sort of emotional induced coma, if you will, to protect my heart from further damage. Then, I found out I was pregnant with Ayla, and I think it had a reversed hormonal effect! Instead of the 'stereotypical emotional pregnant woman', I was rather calm. Placid. Very still. A new protective nature was awakened. I felt very much like a lioness, at times, but only in situations where I felt threatened.

Ayla will be 8 months old tomorrow.
I feel like it's been winter all of this time, and it's only just beginning to thaw.
Some of the wounds have healed, but some are still so tender, if not more so in the slow thaw.
Tears come slowly but surely like melting icicles.
Light is flooding everywhere.
There's that weird sensation of hot and cold from being covered in snow too long.
Blood is trickling... I think... and I can't find the source.

The thing is, I'm not dead.
I've just been sleeping for a very long time.
It may take me a little bit to find my sea legs, but I'll get there.
It's like riding a bike.
I feel it when my heart beats.
I'm coming 'round.

Ready or not. [here it comes]

Well, hello!

It's been far too long.

Probably some of the biggest news, is that I'm now part of the "mommy club". It's pretty fantastic. 

There's this delicious cool breeze outside... the cool of the night, as they say...

hinting that the dog days of summer are coming to a close.

Autumn is coming.

I couldn't be more excited about it!

And, we'll be leaving Nashville behind, and headed to a new home.

Hellos & Goodbyes.

Ready or not.