I’m still suspended here, quietly waiting for the sadness to come. It usually comes in small pieces and this confuses me.
Years ago, I would sob violently in moments such as these. Always on my bed, one hand clenching my comforter, and the other in a fist…pounding the bed beneath me. The salty taste of my tears would fill my mouth and my ears, staining the pillow with mascara. I could have wiped the tears away, but doing so would require releasing that comforter…the only thing left to hold on to. There I lied, all night…drifting in and out sleep. Riding a hazy dream that was never certain if it was beginning or ending. It was always there and never there at the same time.
These moments seem quieter and much shorter. I focus on letting them come. I am comfortable with the violence of these tears. The pain they wash away. But I can’t seem to cry. My sobs trip on that breath. I try to free them, but they can’t seem to come. They take 2 seconds, and then let me rest.
I don’t know what this means, but I think there is a lie here somewhere. Deep inside me, still haunting this body. Not ready to be released.