make the silence be spoken

It’s late at night and I’m house/dogsitting. It’s windy and rainy and the house is on a huge property on top of a hill by the ocean.

Dog keeps barking at every thump and bump…which I’m sure is just pots and bins being blown over outside…not scary badguys trying to get in the house… obviously not because this isn’t a halloween movie this is real life…

Needless to say I’m scared shitless.

But at least I’m up and writing. Which is better than what happens when I’m not scared of badguys jumping through the glass doors and/or breaking through the locked door opposite the glass door.

So I will write, and maybe the badguys wont come after all.

…

Spent too many hours driving through the interior of BC to get to A’s cabin and back again. 

Thanksgiving at the lake, just us, which is how I like it. 

Wood stove, always burning. I love logs in fires and warm hands.

Just below freezing outside, the rivers are icing over around the edges. Cold noses and finger tips. Toes numb under my not-so-insulating converse shoes.

We take two mattress and put them in the middle of them room. They take up the whole floor, and that is okay because that’s all we need, anyway. Beds and warmth. And bodies. 

We buy too many groceries and eat all day. Tea, too many snacks between meals, smoke out the sliding glass door. 

Get lost in the books and in the writings. Lips zipped. 

I look over to you, sitting at the table in a mis-matched chair, in your sky blue hoodie and your silly red toque, and i love you. i love you being there, my being here.

With you.

And bodies. That slide together and push away. That are hurt and are loved. That entwine and move away from touch.

If I could have your hands on me every moment of every day, I would.

If you could be touched rarely, only in moments when touch is necessary, you would.

And isn’t that funny. But not funny, really, more sad. Sad and frustrating. But maybe good too because at least it’s not the opposite, at least I can’t stand your touching me all the time all the time like my high school boyfriend who I couldn’t keep off me. And who I ended up hating. So.

I’d rather wish your hands upon me than wish them off me. Because then when they touch, they feel…more. Electric. 

…

(there are some very scary noises outside now, different scary than the ones before and they are seriously freaking me out. but dog is not barking so that’s probably a good sign)

(okay but seriously wtf is that noise)

…

Driving home I get lost in memories, good ones and bad ones and altogether it’s nice to remember but it also makes me sad. Why does it hurt me to miss it, why can’t I remember and feel glad that it happened? I was there with those people, in those times, in those places, and ohmy I am so glad it all happened. But when I let myself slip into those moments, really see it all over again right in front of my eyes,

oh, 

my heart it hurts.

Maybe because I know I will never get it back. And it’s not only the people I miss but it’s the me, the me of those times, who I miss most of all. The me who was so excited for every day, who never felt…thewayifeellately…who felt that this is exactly what I should be doing, exactly, this is it. Ehh I miss feeling that.

Even though I feel that my life now, the path I have chosen since I’ve been back (a year now!), is right. This is what I’m meant to be doing, right? This is logical and realistic. This is chosing a sensible life, it is making responsible grown-up decisions and for once staying one place. Choosing something, sticking with it. 

OhHowBoring.

But I’m 26 so what the hell else am I supposed to do.

Leave everything, again, and run off to Gulu or Eastern Africa in general or maybe India this time…or maybe anywhere where people are genuine and loving and open and where I feel necessary and alive.

I can’t keep doing that forever. Not if I want a husband and kids and somewhere to call home…and even though those things sound very boring to some people and maybe to me too sometimes…I want them. Maybe I want them more than anything else. Maybe more than the adventure. Maybe that is the adventure.

…

(Scary noises are absolutely still going on out there - and possibly in here as well? - but nothing’s gotten me yet so I guess I will try and sleep and pretend I’m not scared.)

…

Oof I forgot how much I love to write.

xo

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