Love Letter #6

I Am Uncertainty

Dear Beautiful Reflection,

I am sitting here in this airport, reflecting. Reflecting on you, reflecting on me while all the time my thoughts reflect off of you and flitter around this place called Four Peaks. You– a vision that bounces off the walls, spreads through the air, and fills the room even when you are not here… You so damn far away. Closer yes, but still way too far away for my likings.

And me. What am I? Who am I? Maybe you, just inside out and backwards, still pretending I am me. Me looking at the mirror in the sky, asking like Stevie Nicks…. “What is love? Can I sail through the changes? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

Hmmmm… I don’t know. I am getting older, after all.

That’s true, I think and sing along to a song that always makes me think about the sadness that consumed my father so much that he never lived his own life before he died.

Anyways… there I go– lost in my wordiness and lyrics as always.

“Cut to the point,” you might say. Might, my least and most favorite word. Like from Where Ebon Turns to Ivory where as the story starts out the reader discovers that, “Might had never been good enough for a thing as feisty as Za.”

Or me. Or you.

Anyways… I am sitting here sipping an overpriced glass of wine and missing my babies while I also miss you. And suddenly I understand what Carly Rae Jepsen meant when she sang, “Before you came into my life I missed you so bad.”

So bad.

I missed you so bad.

So bad.

So there’s this story (a million probably if truth me told) that I haven’t told you yet. Why? Because I haven’t had a chance. It is a story about what I didn’t know. What I couldn’t decide.

I let the delicious possibility of you slip off my lips and fall back into my glass like an unwanted sip of wine and drop back into a moment– me (me, this part of us anyway), cold as stone standing there in the hallway of my old home in Florida.

It is like six years ago, way before I even considered how much I missed you so badly before I knew you. So bad. I missed you so bad. Only I didn’t know it yet.

Uncertain, I stand in the hallway from six years ago and look at them in my mind like they still hang there for all eternity. The pictures of Emma and Jake lined up on the walls like pieces of the only things that have ever mattered … offered up to God to prove why I came one last time to this God-forsaken planet of suffering and pain. Emma. Jake. The only reasons worth this level of misery, for sure.

Fuck, they are so gorgeous those pictures in my memory on that wall of pain. So gorgeous that I am crying as I type this while I think about the beauty of them, which still (even though they aren’t there anymore in real time) implodes my mind from the inside. My mind. My heart. My soul.

Her newborn feet. His tiny, wrinkled old man hands. Her first birthday. His black and white face in a baseball cap shining like the brightest sun that the whole damn universe has ever birthed.

I type it again because I mean it so much.

Fuck, they are so gorgeous those pictures.

And in this memory that I carry into present time and space like the dead weight of a thousand lives of broken promises, I know nothing except that I can’t risk them. The pictures I mean. I just can’t risk losing one of them. Not one. I’d slit my wrists and bleed like a pig on a stick instead of losing one. Not one of those fucking gorgeous pictures.

So I did. Like that pig, I mean. Bleed on a stick, turned round and round and round in the fires of hell to escape the possibility of losing one of those masterpieces. I stayed for a whole year longer because the lawyer said I might (there’s that terrible and wonderful word again) lose half of them.

And if I’d die for one, how could I ever part with half? Half. Half.

It’s funny. The things you feared looking back. So funny, so silly. The reasons, the chains you invented. So funny on the other side of that stupid wall of fear. Fear of leaving. Fear of staying. Fear of dying. Fear of living. Fear of love. Fear of hate. So many fears that lined that wall that I covered up with pictures of my beloved babies and called home.

Do you know I didn’t lose one? Not one of the fucking gorgeous pictures. Every single one hangs on my wall to this day and will for every day yet to come. Yep. That is for sure.

So this country song pulls me back to the reality of this moment in real time. Whatever that lesser measure of illusion means. Real time. One where and when I am no longer afraid. One where and when I am certain. One where and when I just know… even there’s no way I could know with such limited information to go on.

Anyways… Baby I am alright with just a kiss goodnight.

Why?

Because she’s right– it never felt so real.

It never felt so right.

I let the lyrics whisk me away and take me, all of me now dancing off the walls as I too, much like the version of us we call you, ping around the room shining like the glorious sun, as I am no longer uncertain.

Because I am finally certain.

That I missed you so bad.

That’s why it hurt so much.

So bad.

So much.

And instead of a home of pain, I think about a home made of anything but pain. A life filled with a love so full that there is no room for sadness. Just like with my babies.

I think about the picture of them I posted today in that ridiculous oversized chair and laugh out loud in Four Peaks. Me, this part of us, not giving a flying fuck what anything or anyone might think about me while I type one more love letter to you in case it might please you like the possibility of you pleases me.

Pay the damn bill and go, the waitress thinks and I giggle again knowing that she has no idea how lucky I am. How much I know. How certain I am. How sweet my life just might turn out this time around. She doesn’t know. But I do.

I do.

I think you do too.

And as always, my story pulls me back in and makes me laugh as the idea of you gets stronger and stronger. The promise of how things end with you so lovely, just like in my story about harps and Christmas and Snow White. The story where Za reflects towards the end of her tale, just like I do at the end of this letter… the idea grew stronger. Could it work? Chills coursed through her in an answer of sorts. A confirmation that it just might. Might—not such a bad word at a time like this.

Might.

Might.

Might.

Oh I like the sound of that like I like the sight of those fucking gorgeous pictures. Might.

And like I said at the beginning of that story about ebon harps… there is no such thing as a story, after all.

Much love until I see you soon. So soon. But not soon enough.

With love and mights and certainty I say goodnight again although you are already asleep. I just might join you for just a kiss goodnight.

I am certain, after all. Finally.

-Me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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