confessions

translucence

What do I want? To be content, to lie down perhaps and let the soft, cold snow blanket me white, wipe the slate clean. I want to begin again. This time I ask, let me walk in this world, let me leave the dappled shadows between, the threshold uncrossed. Close the door to magic at the proper time. I don’t want words that dance and call to me with their endless effort to be said, I don’t want to see visions, to have this “talent”. I don’t want to care. I want to let the world consume me.

 

I told her firmly that I would not listen again. I closed my ears to her siren song. I shut fast the door against her in my mind. I emptied myself out into the people who love me, buried her behind their daily needs. In his arms I can only hear his heart beating, he shuts her out and I am safe there in that harbor. In his arms I hear my blood throbbing in my ears; it cries for her release, every vein is another escape. I dream of softness bleeding out at the edges, of fading away.

 

When I make art she sings to me, and I am lost again, I see his world refracted through her dancing lights and I don’t understand it anymore. All the things I do are pointless, faithless, are readily undone. I long for the caress of the paint buttering the canvas, the smell of it, the unfolding, the joy, and the crash. I am an emotional junky; I want the soar, the detached, blinding passion. I can’t give her up. I wish we had never met.

 

I thought once if one man really loved me I might become more real, like the velveteen rabbit. I might be anchored to this cold, bright, snowy world. I thought he would understand. I am so tired, of trying to blend, to not say the wrong things. I want that sweater existence; I want something here to be enough. If you eat the food in the other realms you can never fully come back. Someone should have reminded me of that.

 

Some people dream of “what if”, but their regrets are for things left undone. There are days I wish I had left the damn door shut. Is it too late to close it again? I want to believe that I can have it all, but the price of either life is so much more than I can pay. Is balance an illusion, or can I find a way to stand with one foot either side of the sill?

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2 thoughts on “confessions

  1. I guess mostly it means I am tired and want to rest…ha! But some days I’d just like to be a mini van mum with no voices in my head running a constant creative dialogs, I’d like to not get so grumpy when my life is too busy to make art, but not really, really I just want to be left alone long enough to think and get some art done!! grrr! But yes, lets drink wine! and soon!

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