Soul mirror

Is grief a soulmate? Should we let it show us to ourselves, and allow it to find its way?

I think it was a Gibson

I am getting lost in the memories of those who have gone before me. Who have been living stories. Death has me thinking about them, about what has shaped me and what I have let go.

Death, continued

I have experienced death – first hand – twice now. I am a child compared to some. A virgin. Innocent. When I think of the world around me and it’s wars and tragedies, what do I know of death? Except that I know. I know my apples amongst the oranges.

Death

Now it is time to speak for me, of me. And I have something to say about death.

Why . . .

This bed in which I sleep

stand beside

lamp upon

Ours now mine.

And to my Own Self

For those of us who grieve you, what is left in our hands might be surprising or uncomfortable. New. But these stories belong to us, and are not left by you.

Round and Round

I understood the disdain for ingesting ideas when there was so much inside of you that needed to find its way out. I had been writing in lurches and starts over the past decade for this exact reason. Release.

Trumped

Is it ok that I am talking about your fear? Because I think it needs to be known. Your living and your dying, it is an example.

I gotta sing

We were not a love story. We were a choice. Do you remember? “I am choosing to love you,” I texted.

I grieve; You grieve

I have let go, Beardo. I have let you go. And so now you are back, in this peace. And I am so fucking blessed to be in this moment. How could I possibly judge this good feeling that walks with me . . .