8-22

The moon came and blotted out the sun, bathing the earth in transformative energy. Or so they tell me.

Do I feel transformed? In a sense. I feel like I have come back to myself. That is a transformation of sorts, isn’t it? Returning full circle. A snake finding its tail.

I am not entirely back, but I have reconnected with the calm voice in my head. I have regained control of my words and my actions. The desperation, the blind desire to stick my hand in the fire, has faded, and I can shut it out of my mind now when it tickles and itches. 

The rationality took over, and I erased him. No more hesitant attempts, no more crafty undermining my own efforts. He is gone, I cannot reach him. He said goodbye, and goodbye again, and goodbye, and I wanted to rage at him, but I for once bit my tongue and I let him go.

What was left of him, anyway? What was there for me to need to hold on to? Clutching hard to a memory, a fantasy.

I feel whole again. I never knew what it was to not feel whole, until he showed me, and now I love myself more fiercely than ever before. Maybe that’s my lesson. Maybe this broken love affair’s happy ending has always been for me and mine.

It’s dark outside and green, and the long grass shivers as the cool air sweeps inward. I am bright and vibrant, internalizing the changes, anticipating. I am looking forward. Bursts of creativity propel me, gentle and encouraging words keep my chin up. I see glimpses of fun, parties and laughing, dancing and singing off-key, crisp corn stalks, apples, making warm and cinnamon-scented food in the kitchen with people I love so deeply it’s simply become a part of who I am.

Did I have fun with him? I don’t recall. I remembering wanting to, but I suppose that means no. I think I was afraid to show him that side of me, the wildness and exuberance. Why did I censor the best parts of me? I thought he would be overwhelmed, perhaps. Perhaps I was subtly trained with his sideways looks and jealousy to water down the parts of me that bubble like champagne.

The blame is my own, for losing myself.  

But I am back.