surely, i have things to say.

curiously, nothing wants to be shared.

i seem to be afflicted with a crippling case of introspection, and that’s making this charge of daily blogging a difficult one.  it’s not something new.  in fact, it’s something i’ve been struggling with for the better part of this year.

i’m trying to learn to let go, but to do this, i’m finding that i need to understand why i hold on.  and there’s more — i need to know exactly what it is i’m holding.  it’s dark and arduous work.  it’s putting me face to face with a lifetime of stockpiled fragments — fears, betrayals, hopes, failures — they’re all there, tucked neatly into drawers, and hidden behind pictures when no one was looking.

i had no idea.

so let’s just say that the words that come this month may not be on par with the past two decembers.  and that’s okay.  the wheels are still turning, but in different ways.  new ways.  necessary ways.

it’s like stepping out of the dark and into the sunlight.  first, you have to close your eyes to see.

if only i had the time…

if only i had the money…

if only i had the words…

those things become crutches, excuses, diversions, distractions, ways out of uncomfortable moments, and, for me, they become a trap, a holding pattern.  and i get stuck.  waiting.  waiting.  waiting.  if only…

so, there was this boy—isn’t there always a boy?—and he made me smile, and then he moved away.  and if only i could see him again and talk things through — then, i could clear the air — then, it would all make sense — then, i could really say goodbye — then, i could move on.  of course, if onlys don’t actually happen.  at least not to me.  until that one night, just before dawn.

and so, it was me, and him, and the night — of that much, i’m certain.  the rest?  it might have been a dream.

it might not really matter.

that particular night was of the finest vintage — early october — cool, dark and deep, with a soft wind that sauntered around whispering of times past, and of innocence, and of falling stars.  it crept through the city blocks carrying with it the faintest hint of moisture — a promise that the dawn would be softened by a blanket of fog and a shimmering carpet of dew.  it was one of those rare nights that held a space for something important to step in.  or someone.

and there he was, and there we went, together.  and, i must admit, when the object of your if only is suddenly and unexpectedly there, with you, in the dark of a night as curiously magical as this particular night, something is bound to happen.

i never thought i would be here, like this, with you.  it’s like a dream.

and just like that,  my if only was handed to me on a gilded plate, topped with truffles and saffron threads and almas caviar.  just like i said i wanted.  just like i said i needed. and i froze.  i had nothing to say.  it was all a hoax.  i didn’t really want an if only, i wanted an excuse to hold on, because letting go meant admitting defeat, surrendering to an ending i didn’t want.  sitting with him that night, i realized that none of that really mattered, not anymore.  he had long since let go and moved on.  the ending was already written, i was just stuck waiting to turn the page.  so i surrendered, i let go of my if only, and so, we passed the time together — with words, and smiles, and laughter, and a single kiss on my cheek.  it was unencumbered and sweet beyond telling.

my if only had come and gone.  and i never really needed it in the first place.

goodbye.

we’re all riddled with fears and insecurities and expectations and entitlements. we’re all struggling to make sense of things and to move along without getting stuck waiting for something, or someone.  that night, though not a shadow of what i anticipated, was exactly what i needed, an object-lesson on letting go and living in the moment — me, and the boy, and the night.

and that’s something worth holding on to.

when people walk away from you
let them go
your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you,
& it doesn’t mean they are bad people,
it just means that their part
in your story is over.

(where the heart is)