For a grieving friend

When your heart feels as fragile as a shell

As though at any moment it might crack

Leave it with me for a while

I will hold it carefully in my palms

Taking comfort in the rhythm

As you lay your head on your pillow

And close your eyes and rest

* * *

When your head just can't take any more

Remember to breathe

In with the good

Out with the bad

In through your nose

Out through your mouth

In and out

In and out

In and out

Over and over

Until the calm comes to soothe you

It may take a lot of breath

But you will get there

* * *

When you feel unbearably sad

And in over your head

Share your tears with me

So that you can remember 

You are taken care of

Only one thing is expected from you:

That you feel loved

* * *

When the weight of the world

Is too much for your shoulders to bear

I will take the world from you

And remind you

That no one should have to carry that weight alone

It's okay

I have strong shoulders too

* * *

When you are simply too tired to cook a meal

Or to clean your house

Or to buy food to feed yourself

Or anything else at all, big or small

I will bring you food

I will clean your house

I will buy you groceries

I will do anything you need

Anything at all

* * *

When you feel weak

And have no more left to give

Remember that deep down you are strong

But that doesn't mean that you have to be right now

It's okay to soak your aching bones

To tend to your hurting heart

To cry so much you run out of tears

In time you will feel restored

But for now it's okay to give in

It's not the same as giving up

* * *

Take time to grieve

Take time for yourself

But never forget that whenever you need to talk

Or you need a hug

Or a coffee

Or just reassurance that the world isn't in fact crumbling

Know that I am here for you

My friend

There is distance between us

But there really is no distance at all

Crocus

Wednesday. A dark day, both literally and metaphorically.

I walk towards the car, thankful that it is pouring rain. Thankful that I can shield my face with my giant black umbrella. My mind is as flooded as the puddles that mark my path. Just make it to the car. Keep the umbrella down low and jump in the car where you'll be safe and you can just drive...

I look up for a brief moment when crossing the street and that's when I see her. Shit. Shit! She saw me. The Nun is walking towards me, her pace quickening with every step. She is the last person I want to see at this moment. Her steps are so quick and so light. Happiness and Light. And today, at least, I'm Dark. Oh So Dark.

I can't even pretend that I didn't see her. We had that split second of recognizance. And she's walking ohsofast. She speed walks across the street and before I can think, "Hi, Christine! Leaving work already?" It's just barely 10:30. I mumble a mouthful of excuses - far too many excuses. I'm talking far too much; the sign of a true liar. I am lying to The Nun of all people, but the only thing I can think of is that my makeup is washed away and it obviously has nothing to do with the rain and if I talk enough, then perhaps she won't. I look ahead, my eyes locked on my car, speed walking myself now, just trying to get inside my refuge on wheels and back home.

"Oh, Christine..." The Nun's hand suddenly slices the air in front of my path forcing me to abruptly stop. "Stop! Just look at that..." And in the frozen patch of snow on a random lawn is a sprout of brilliant green. A crocus just beginning its new spring life, pushing against all odds through the rough, icy terrain.

And with that, The Nun glides off, a God Bless You wafting through the clean spring air. She rounds the corner and is gone...

She appeared at the very moment I needed to get outside of my own mind and for this I feel strangely grateful. In a moment plucked from deep darkness, she taught me to look beyond myself, away from my own intense scrutiny and introspection. She taught me in that moment to refocus.

And I am suddenly, for just a very split second that day, truly happy.

Freedom & Shame

On the shiny surface, the bathroom is a perfect escape for a thirty-seven-year-old mother such as myself. It's a safe haven in which you are guaranteed at least a decent certain percentage of allowable quiet alone time. But -

But.

There are not one, but two mirrors. They're hung side by side, like two lopsided eyeballs staring me back in the bathroom. They make me think of the close bright headlight of a train about to wreck. Or of the white-hot part of a flame - the intense point of impact that creates the impenetrable glow.

The mirrors never reflect what I expect them to. Let's just leave it at that.

But the bath is like a big warm hug. I simultaneously sink and float.

Paradoxes abound.

At least while the mind is racing, the body can relax.

Hollow Wonderful Glorious

The girl sat hunched into herself. One might have observed that she was curled up like a shrimp. Or a potato bug. She was trying her best to protect herself. She was failing terribly. The girl felt overcome and hollow.

She thought of the body and of material possessions and how none of it makes sense. There is never any peace. She felt beyond hollow, as though she was composed of only eggshells and that the slightest movement may shatter her entire existence into dust.

- - - - - - - -

Her favourite record was playing. A smile briefly superimposed itself on the girl's face. The voice wafting through the air calmed her. She felt a little less hollow because she sensed her idol had also felt hollow many times just like her.

Infinite negatives fused at that exact moment and all that were left were positives.

She felt a little less hollow. A little less alone.

Where

I'm having difficulty finding things lately. I can't see what's in front of me.

Wattage

I sit in the glow. My vision, straight out to its most peripheral points, inherits the glow. The glow is all around me. My face wears a smile that betrays me.

I brush off the sandy crumbs. They hit the floor and meld into the once-white rug. The sweetness that moments ago crept down my throat has now tangled my stomach. The sweet turned suddenly sickly. I am all at once wired and exhausted. I lie down on the couch and fall asleep with my eyes open. That's enough to scare even the truest friend.

I wake up at nothing o'clock. The glow is still there. I forgot to turn off the glow. I am still flat.

I trip my way to the white bathroom. Light. Bright. I wish I may, I wish I might.

I make my way to the bed. I close my eyes and see dreams smeared across the sky. Projectiles of the mind.  Fragments of a lifetime before or one yet to come.

Graffiti XO

My soles join the pavement, each click of contact connecting us further. The atmosphere envelopes me and invites me in. The city takes me by the hand and guides me through its rugged streets. It swoops me up, loosens my shoulders and takes me where I need to go.

The view is raw. The pavement is patched and broken but beautiful. The walls have been decorated and dressed up in technicolour in the dark hours of the night. When the morning light arrives, it reveals the art left behind by the beautiful minds.

The inhabitants are inspiring. Each face tells a different story. Clothes are not simply worn, but draped and adorned. This city has serious style. Even the grit is beautiful.

The furniture on the sidewalks is worn. Paint chips show lives lived before this one. Edges have been roughened up by weary backs. There is an appreciation for the past. Creativity flows through the streets. It seeps out of the soles that touch them and spreads like a fantastical virus up and through and into the atmosphere. I breathe deeply. I want to be part of it. The smiling faces welcome me in. They fulfill my yearning.

Is it better here? Not necessarily, but it's a city that tries. This city juts out its hips and forms an inner circle. It walks circles around the others that don't quite try as hard.

I am spoiled here. I have the luxury of time to sit in a roughened cafe at ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning. I am bathed is the scent of freshly baked croissants, sipping a foamy cappucino. I have the time to write a love note to a new favourite place filled with delectable spaces and faces.

I sit at an old wooden table on a chair with a crooked leg. Beside me sits my familiar black bag. Inside this bag is my passport. I am a million miles from home...