Winter Is Coming…

Winter is coming, I can feel it. As the cold icy wind whips through the alley, it whips through my heart and soul, as well. It’s a hard time of year for many. The sugary holiday festivities cause us to wilt, and chase us further into our shells. Spare me the Scrooge lecture and do something if you truly care. Sit quietly and listen to the pain that racks my heart.

The 23rd is coming. The day of the Lost’s Birth. A day of anticipation, of grand celebration, the beginning of the festivities, but now, it is as lost as the words that were whispered on the night’s breeze, and I know I should forget, but I cannot. I am stronger than this, I know, and while I try to move, and move I do, I cannot help but feel that I am traveling in circles at times, pausing at that very same spot every single fucking time. Closing your eyes does not help, nor does crying, screaming, withdrawing, bleeding, contemplating, searching, reaching, shutting down, standing up…

Is this a slow agonizing death? Is this the final blow to shatter what is left? Is this the root of my cheimatophobia? Am I freezing to my end? or merely frozen in time?

It was kindness that drew me from within myself. That kindness that no matter how evidence taints it, I pray it was true. What is the truth and what is a lie? I am beyond capable of discerning the difference from the source. We were to meet in Texas for Christmas… my very first heartfelt Christmas celebration since the passing of Stephen. “Now, that is a lie,” says the spiteful bitch in the corner pointing at my words with a stubby finger. “That was wishful thinking!” she cackles. I shake my head as I look at the dark hallway through the door. It is hope that keeps me from going through the door. I know about the dark, and at times, it is less painful that the light. It is less tragic to be numb than to feel. I look in the mirror. I see a broken woman. I am as broken as my gift is. Yes yes… I know. I’m a fine catch worth waiting for, but you know, your words roll off my soul like raindrops off of a well-waxed automobile. They do not ease the pain, nor boost the self-worth.

Suitors are here and there, but the question always remains. Is it here that you love me? (pointing below my belt) Or here (tracing my finger up a foot and a half and to the left). It’s easy to love the body, lust can move mountains, but so can explosives. The heart can stop time. Now, the ones who claim to love move on their way, and only one has extended the arm, which I have unfortunately had to decline the invite. I am sorry, so very very sorry.

The weekend will arrive. And Brutus and I will curl up for a movie together, hiding from the world. The box from the shelf in the closet set gently on the bed beside me, absently fingering the shards within as my thoughts move past the movie into the far reaches of my mind. That which is broken will heal, I know. There is always hope, I know. I am not the same woman I was a minute ago, I know. The sun will shine again, I know, but not until the last Thursday of the year, I am sure. But for now… it is as it must be. I am sure you will see a few more exciting and controversial posts between now and the new year. Take care friends, and safe journey to those traveling.

Listening to:
“Alone I Break” by Korn

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