last night – Stream of Conciousness

“breathe your life into me, I can feel you – I’m falling” Red “Breathe”

It’s hazy and foggy and overcast this morning, with this glint of sun far in the distance and a sky full of the lightest color blue, and it’s beautiful – I’m flying through the maze of traffic this morning on the way into work, arriving 10 minutes late, but I don’t care and my brain’s remote control is stuck on a loop of repeat and rewind that I don’t want to snap out of, and I don’t see it as a possibility any time soon. How’s that for run on sentences and statements of declarations?

There was a time last night, in between the circling where we spoke of trust, love, hope. The dizzying feeling of standing on the edge of something beautiful and precious. Life. I kept staring at the ceiling trying to articulate what I was thinking, and semi succeeding, somewhat not. There’s so much more that I could say, but there are no words for this feeling. I’m pretty sure that the tightrope I’ve been dancing on, wheelbarrow or not for the past time (it feels like forever ago that this started, but it still feels so new) snapped at some point, between wakefulness and dreaming, in the middle of last night. I woke up multiple times in the night, re-familiarizing myself with strange surroundings and looking over and seeing her in streetlight-glow through the gaps in the blinds of the window. It felt like – I don’t know what it felt like, because I don’t know that I’ve ever had that feeling. Things seem so different now – it’s a change in perspective, a change in my view of the world, not all circling around her careful existence, the way she’s interjected herself into my dreams and sandcastles and nightscapes, but rather a wider scope of perspective from a view that’s been too narrow. I think I’m falling, at least at the edges of, maybe not full out, full tilt, no brakes – but with eyes wide open and the wind whistling past my world in whimpers and in other ways. It’s not scary, this. Some things still are – the uncertainty and the introspection plays tricks with me, like throwing a pebble into a still, calm body of water causing ripples and making waves. But the fear is not overwhelming or shaky. It’s choosing to ride those waves from the moment of impact to the fruition that is new, different and changing.

Last night was survivor (although I have no clue what happened), Chinese food, drawing, talking – mini wars over power struggles of will, challenges and laughter. I think I got her back for kicking me in the head last week by elbowing her face this morning in a dance we were doing trying to get out of bed. It didn’t work. I was wide awake shortly before 6, and while my mind wandered, I never really drifted back to dreaming. Daydreaming was more like it. I watched the world fade from a dark grey to lightening. Heard the birds when they first woke up and started singing, it was like an inner reflection of the butterflies that have been doggedly circling the edges of my stomach for weeks. I could get used to this. I never realized until now how long six days can be, when I’ve been so used to waiting. Time is not my friend right now – not only did it fail to speed up in the days leading up to yesterday, but it decided not to stop in the midst of the free-fall last night, and brought the morning far earlier than it was requested. The sun is just now starting to peek through the clouds, but the air is colder than it has been. I don’t think I want to wake up. Not really. My eyes are glassy and green-ish with flecks of blue and yellow in the corners, the hint of that mischievous gleam still showing from bits and pieces of last night. I remember things, like they’ve been imprinted, etched into the corners of my memory and I don’t want them to fade. I don’t think they will, realistically. The edges may blur and curl a bit, but the pure art it was in the middle will linger. I remember the look in her eyes in certain moments – when you see so clearly after having your eyes closed and they suddenly open because you want to know the texture in vision of the things you’re feeling. I remember the glow, the careful moments after with her head nestled somewhere between my neck and my chest, staring at the glow of the tv but not paying attention. I remember the moment she fell asleep. I was smiling too much to close my eyes, it didn’t work out that way and I was seeing and counting stars.

I want to say everything, to commit to a memory even greater than mine the minuscule details that make this picture beautiful, but the reality of it is I can’t. I can’t write, dream, make up, imagine or create this. I can’t control, struggle, maintain or hold it either. It’s something greater, something bigger than just me, and I’m just sitting here in the surf after being plunged into this ocean without the conscious choice to let go being left in my hands. Truthfully, I’m glad it happened this way – something a bit out of my control, out of my comfort zone, exploring my tender edges this way, then taking the choice away from me. I’m enjoying every second of every moment and enjoying the ride. I’m not going to crash, I’m going to fly – I may fall, but that’s what that rush is, the fall, trusting that the wind will pick up and carry you past the bottom, finding the current in the clouds and not fighting the strong tailwind that seems to know what you’re doing – even when you don’t. That’s enough.

me: I think I may be turning into some kind of addict because of you
her: but that’s ok…