The tendency to cling, or the longing to, is something I'm noticing.
Inside the outstretched arms and grasping
There's fear of being alone
Of the pain of being left…again.
The worry that another exit lands on me as the final proof
I'm too much.
I'm not loveable.
It's true and tiny me was right
If I tell the truth,
Everyone will leave.
As I notice my hands itching to clamp down on a friendship, love, housemate
I can also feel adoration
Awe for the sweetness of connection
The wonder of being in a world absolutely drenched in sorrow
And yet we've managed to find each other
To be suspended in time because we've found something inside each other that feels
Like home
After so many decades of feeling like I've never belonged
The worry that home will disappear is visceral
Some parts of me want to upend anything in the way of staying here
In this connection
Regardless of the way we both shift and change
What would it be like to be in connection with open hands?
To trust that the ones who feel like home won't leave
And that the ones that do
It's their time or mine
To move in a different way
Or to be with other hands that suit them
It's time
It's place
It's rhythm
So many things outside me that shape who stays
And who goes.
What would it be like to believe that the ones who leave
Have no reflection or painting on who I am?
I can't feel it yet but I'm open to the possibility.
And in the mean time, I'm soaking up every
Smile
Hug
Laugh
Moment
Where I'm reminded with each of you
That you haven't left.
