Journal 6/25/14

Last night I drifted to sleep with the sound of gulls echoing across the Kasilof River. As I slipped into unconsciousness, their cries morphed into the sound of wolves howling, and then into a woman screaming.
I dreamt I went home. I frantically stripped the sheets from my bed, and remade it with fresh linens. I left without telling the new residents I’d been there. I went to sleep at my parents’ home because my house was no longer mine.
I’m adrift. Untethered. Floating with the flotsam and pulled by currents as strong as those that compel the Kasilof out to sea.
Twice a day the ocean reaches in and pulls the river out. Gently coaxing at first, before getting greedy.
My handwriting resembles my mothers.’
The river relaxes and gives herself willingly.
Curt’s leaving sometime in the coming weeks and I’m devastated.
When the ocean is satisfied, he loosens his grip and lets go freely. The tide suddenly shifts.

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In Time, All Wounds

 “It was like I left a portal open,” I explained, holding up my hand and forming a circle with my fingers meeting my thumb, and drawing it upward. My hand hovered over the crown of my head, as I continued to expand on my theory.  As usual, Seth feigned attentiveness.

“Like I’d allowed an open-door policy for his energy to enter, wander, and linger inside my mind. I’d come across a photo every couple of years, and it would still make my heart stop. It was as if the wound was still open, though not nearly as immense or painful, it still hadn’t healed after all those years.

Over time it grew smaller, and I grew stronger, and eventually it scarred over. Time really does heal. And even though I wasn’t necessarily cognizant of the process, it seems to be proof that our bodies, our wounds, our souls will heal if we allow ourselves time and give ourselves permission to go through it.”

Just like that, during the course of our conversation, I realized I no longer carried my greatest heartbreak with me. I’d laid it down somewhere along my path, and I hadn’t noticed the moment its weight evaporated. It’s fascinating to look back on loving that deeply, remembering the agony of thinking I’d die from the unbearable sorrow, and to have come out better for it on the other side. Given enough time and distance, we are designed for such magnificent resilience. 

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Jumping Off

I want to thank you,



Whose name is…


mostly forgotten



For being the catalyst

My springboard

I couldn’t have

Stepped out

onto this ledge

I wouldn’t have

tripped over

its edge

Had it not been

for you

holding my hand

ensuring me

I’d break the surface

My fate-sealed, 



Another drowning


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2:12 am

it’s early
or it’s late,
who you ask.
there’s nobody
‘round here
‘cept me
who isn’t
the damn dogs
can’t read
the clock.

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Found this amongst the remnants of my past: a letter to someone I once loved deeply, written when I realized it was time to let go. It broke my heart all over again to know I couldn’t maintain a connection to him and move forward with my life, but that dull ache was nothing compared to the agony when he’d ask me to leave my current life and marry him, or his confession that I was the only regret he had in life: he should never have let me go.
Love–that magical, mystical, often inexplicable connection we have to other human beings, whether family, friends, lovers–is, in the end, the only thing that matters during our brief time on this planet. I am blessed to have loved deeply on numerous occasions.
This is a letter to one of the ones who will remain as much a part of me as the marrow in my bones. I’d take the pain of loving passionately followed by the agony of wishing-I-could-die heartache a thousand times over, rather than a life of so-so.

Dearest R,

I maintain this fantasy that you’re a tangible part of my life, but it’s not reality. It isn’t healthy for me to put so much stock in hoping to hear from you, and wanting there to be a real chance to see you in the near future. And dreaming that we’re going to run away together: I can be a photographer/ writer while you trap food for dinner. Ridiculous! ‬

You are the love of my life, R.H. I’ll never be able to let go of you if we continue to communicate.

I want to share things with you, and it became obvious last week when I attempted to do so, that I am not a real part of your life. And I understand.

I had this sudden flash in the middle of my other writing this evening- as so often happens when I delve into my memory, one popped up of you. Two actually (one usually leads to another…): the night we made love in Wapiti as the full moon rose over the mountain and washed the valley and our room in its blue glow (on my list of the most romantic moments in my life). And, the time you sent toast through airport security because my breakfast wasn’t ready when I was called to board (one of the many moments I fell in love with you).

And, then all the times I looked at you and knew you didn’t love me the way I loved you. I’m afraid that truth remains painfully obvious. As much as I tell myself time has healed that wound, the scar continues to ache on occasion. Which, in turn, makes me feel pathetic. (I’m not looking for continual penance on your part, just acknowledging to myself that some things in life may never heal) I still love so many things about you: your kindness, and tenderness, your voice, your laugh, your sense of humor, your ridiculous gas. But, I’m in love with you in my memory.

I’m fine, I’m thriving, but I can’t walk this fine line between loving you and living my current life.

I’m writing to say goodbye.

I wish you love, and happiness, and health, and prosperity. You deserve it. Be good to yourself, and kind to those who are in your life (Especially [name extracted]. Perhaps you can mend your relationship. She needs your love and support right now, and maybe you’ll find a way to feel what you once had together. Give it an honest try.) Life is hard, R. Don’t chase off the people who love you.

Yours. Then, Now, Always.


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It’s like I’m dreaming,
this is so cliché:
sitting in a coffee shop,
a helluva stout
shot of espresso,
listening to the hum of
academics droning on
about the French Revolution
Florence + The Machine
reminding me
“it’s darkest
before the dawn.
Shake it out,
shake it out.”

I’ve set up camp in camp.

Clearly, I’ll be dredging up a poem.

I’m here
I can’t be trusted alone
with myself today.
I can’t take being in my skin,
Even as I’m sloughing it off.

I’m sleep-deprived,
holding back tears
this tidal wave of
heart breaking.

I’m casting off, and casting off, and casting for answers
to questions I’m afraid ask.

He gave me permission to feel things
Naturally, I bolted for the door

Which words
adequately encapsulate
the shear agony
the discomfort
the pain
the possibility
my universe expanding.

Sit with this.
Just Sit.
And wait.

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