We Say Goodbye in
Circles
Lancaster,
It is always a day of constant rain and a solid refrain
of roaring thunder. It is always the
same when I try to walk away from you. I
am bound by my practical wisdom to flee, surveying the exit and then feeling
the expected sensation of the driveway gravel grinding into the arches of my
feet through my flat summer shoes, trying to run so that when we say goodbye we
do not say it in circles. It is a
pattern, a tearful farewell perpetuated by old ghosts that permit us to move in
a slow circular motion from an almost ending and guilelessly back to the beginning. It is a sequence of changes that veer us back
into our original position. It is time
to break the cycle. Time to set our
burdens free.
It is your estimation that our bond is profound and
irreversible, it is what you always say, how you ensnare me, convince me to
stay. You, who would rather foster
something that is an old delusion and me, who would prefer to sever the
tattered ties, mend the broken pieces and advance. I no longer wish to meditate on perdition and
set my sights on something more idyllic and peaceful instead of re-using old
romantic tenements to convince ourselves we belong.
We belonged once.
But, we are nothing more than a short story. A well versed poem even. A history lesson at best. My spirit is not arranged in such a way that
I can pretend. I do not wish to be
immortalized in an orbiting, prosaic picture of what people perceive love to
be.
I wish to make my departure soft and civil. Let me run, in a straight line, in the
weather. Let us not circle the drain and
let what goodness we’ve spun expire in vain.
I wish not to emaciate you on the inside as you’ve so crudely suggested,
I wish not to harm you. I wish you well, I wish you love and I wish you
contentment. And more, I wish the very
same for myself. I desire it. I need it.
These are things you can no longer provide, not because you are not
every bit as lovely as you always were but because I am every bit as different
as I ever was.
You were a good companion. A good friend. And I promise you that I will regard you
fondly when I take pause every now and then and look over my shoulder. Your footprint in my sand is immeasurable and
not without warm value.
This goodbye is a straight line. Linear and clean, honest. Be
well and be happy, I will follow suit, on another path diverging in a different
direction.
With kindness,
Ursula
**
I had a hard time sleeping early this morning so I did a writing exercise off the cuff, based on the line that is the title. I wrote for about fifteen minutes and this was the result. I suppose I am missing Imelda and Brucha just a little to have it come out in letter form. I was missing my creative self and my pile of notes is growing but my actual work continues to suffer. It felt good, even if what I wrote in my sleepy haze is poopy, to write. I've been a terrible blogger this month, I hope it is a fleeting thing. I have to make sure it is.
Happy frozen Sunday.
In propinquity,
Nic
"Actual work" - what does that mean? The bigger project? The elusive project? I'm starting to learn that anything I write is "actual work". It's just not always the work I wanted to do when I woke up.
ReplyDeleteThis might be an exercise, Nic, but it's a work unto itself - it's a snapshot of real life between two people, one struggling to hold on and the other struggling to let go. It's beautifully written (you write such good letters, no matter whose name is signed!) You're still there, honey. Still writing, still creating, still yearning and dreaming and envisioning. Time is the problem. There seems so little of it as we grow, though the masters insist we have all the time we need. I guess 15 minutes was all you needed to compose this little gem!