I feel like going back into my warm, pre-enlightened cocoon. Sharing feels like I’m as vulnerable as a newborn fawn, spindly legs trembling, the instinct to duck for cover behind my mother’s flank so, so strong.
We continue to cuddle and I continue to open up to more of my own familiar pain, cauterized to my veins so long ago. My dreams haunt me of boundaries destroyed, my voice never heard by those whom should have been listening most closely. Tiny, yet urgent cries lost in the bellowing hot air of those wrapped up in their own hurts and insecurities.
I’m striding forward less afraid than ever before. I’ve never owned him. He may leave at any moment. This is a notion as old as fire and it burns as brightly and blisters the same.
Declarations of love and commitment don’t prevent bereavement in the end anyway. We are all free to morph into new incarnations, to flee and flutter towards the next patch of wildflowers, to flit and flounder.
So for now, I will only share with you Me, not Him and not Us. I have more work to do first.
I love you all. And I’m still here.