Bent Pages

What do I have? And what even counts as having? Here is the day. Here is February. Here are the words that are biting my lower lip. Here is the life I am living, or maybe it’s living me, sometimes it feels like a script, a laugh track to be added later as I Drop the lemons, and then as I lean to pick them up, drop the parsley, which I will later forget to add to the recipe I’m following for dinner.

I have the ache that keeps me up at night, a silent song playing in my mind that I can't silence. I have questions that I need to answer but don't have the courage to ask. I have the sadness that seems to find me when I least expect it. I have the loneliness that follows me like a shadow. I have the moments of joy that come and go like a summer breeze.

I have the ache that trails me like a sad dog with a limp. I let it in and let it take up real estate on the couch that I now have because someone gave it to me. I have fears, I have memory. I have the stories that I made up in my head. I have the words that have been spoken to me that feel like a second skin. I have dreams, many dreams, which mostly involve sitting with you and nodding along and shaking our heads to unknowing.

I have the ache that is part of me, a reminder of all that I have been through and all that I still need to see. I have the ache that I carry around, like a companion that I can't shake. I have the ache that I must learn to live with, the ache that makes me who I am.

I might be just a visitor to this life, none of it mine, all of it leaned. I’m handed this book to borrow and I warn you that I know I’ll hand it back with creased and bent pages, dog-earned at my favorite parts for revisiting.

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