7 yrs ago i cried to my mother, because he didn't love me back. in front of her four-poster bed, losing my words through billions of tears that rushed from all the cracks and spaces where my hands covered my eyes. animals can be calmed when they aren't able to see around them. people, too. not me, though. i see, maybe too much. maybe that night i cried that much harder bc what i saw most was myself giving up. giving up is louder than a train or an airplane. it is louder than anything. maybe i cried, too, bc i was afraid to run to her. she knew, so came to me. and held on as if 1979 weren't 27 years buried, making my bruises all better with a kiss. it was that night when my mother told me it took her far too long to realize how beautiful she was. not outward beauty, but the kind you find in knowing your worth. i didn't tell her that i don't think there are enough numbers in the universe to measure hers. maybe someday i will. there are days when i am grateful for nothing more than being my mother's daughter.
lately i've been tormented by what i see when i look in the mirror. i have wasted so much time, wanting this and then wanting that and then not knowing at all what i want. i moved to memphis 4 yrs ago, wanting to escape as always, except this time i'd surely do it right....right? indeed. no more screwing around. time to grow up and stay put. i'd be a writer who actually made a living at it...i'd sit on porches with my new friends, talkin shit and listening to gram parsons or anyone else who had a way w words and a guitar...i'd have a new boy to chase after any time i wanted, bc memphis was sure to be full of the kind that west virginia never had.
it hasn't happened that way. not at all. it's been the hardest 4 years of my life. some of it, irreparable. i live every day knowing that to do what is best for me, i will break my father's heart. now, 723 miles from him, i think of the thousands of "i love yous" i've withheld from him, all bc i didn't know how to say it. it still makes me cringe a little, saying it. i mean really saying it, not just the hurried iloveyoutoo before hanging up. i'm not sure why. my dad kissed my cheek and told me he loved me every night of my childhood. he still sends me a valentine every year and sends me love notes with my mail. i wonder if i'll ever tell him that i know he hung the moon.
love is troublesome. love of family, friends, and, of course, men. my god. i have spent the past 10 years turning the curious, careless behavior of men into art. writing is a precious release. sometimes i just sit in front of my computer for...who knows how long...and just think about what i'm going to write. it's mental canning, putting it up for later use.
afternoon coffee calls. if you give a damn, there are more musings to come. if you don't, then neither do i.