My Old, My Familiar Friend

A clouded dream on an earthly night
Hangs upon the crescent moon
A voiceless song in an ageless light
Sings at the coming dawn
Birds in flight are calling there
Where the heart moves the stones
It’s there that my heart is longing for
All for, for the love of you

And so it’s there my homage due
Clutched by the still of the night
And now I feel, feel you move
And every breath, breath is full
So it’s there my homage due
Clutched by the still of the night
Even the distance feels so near
All for, for the love of you.

~”The Mystic’s Dream,” by Loreena McKennitt,
from The Mask and the Mirror

Grief is a damn slippery process.

I went on my getting-to-know-you thing, and it was pretty much perfect, all things considered. He is no more ready or able to date than I am, and that came as a relief. A built-in safety net. He’s a nice guy, smart as hell, a genuinely decent human being, understanding and mature. All great things. A little too great, maybe.

Breathe, woman, breathe.

I spent tonight’s ride home from work feeling loss curl through me like sharpened smoke, sliding around muscle and bone, circling the heart, burning.

I love you. I always will.

This possibility came up on me fast, and now my unprepared inner landscape is shuffling around to make room for it. Some of the broken edges are still sharp, and the rearrangement cuts. It reawakens the ache made dormant by the demands on my time, and now I have come back for another round of the grieving process, another orbit around the black hole where we used to be us.

I wish I could talk to you, one more time.

So here I am, staring at my bottle of sleepy-time medicine, wondering what’s waiting for me in the dream time. Will he come to tell me it’ll be all right? Will it be another nightmare? Soup’s on, subconscious, what’ll it be?

Moonlit Path, by Elyon Freya, via Deviant Art

‘Moonlit Path’ by Elyon Freya, via Deviant Art

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