Over the race
and into the woods,
just down the forest path –
there we’ll go.
In search of adventure,
in search of snow,
we’ll step and turn
and twirl and dance.
We’ll take this chance.
And if, along the way,
we find
a journey or a day,
we’ll know –
we were meant to be here
in this winter wonderland.
Will you join us?
Then take my hand.
I’m not that fond of summer.
I’m quite okay with spring.
Fall is a time for magic,
and winter is my scene.
But as I sit here waiting,
as far as winters go,
I think this one’s been boring
because we’ve had NO SNOW!
Okay, but seriously, it’s looking like we’ll see no snow at all this winter. I can’t lie – I’m really disappointed. We’ve had some very cold weather, and then some relatively warm weather, winter-wise, and we’ve had some rain, and some fog, oddly enough, but absolutely zero snow. I know this happens some years. It’s fine. Maybe it means next year’s winter will be extra beautiful.
In the meantime, at least there’s tea. And books. And fuzzy blankets. And various other cozy winter things.
Sigh.
We write on.
Today, I want the world
to know:
that the sadness won’t beat me,
that the heartbreak won’t stop me,
and the fear of bad things happening
might slow me down,
but I will
keep going.
Even if I have to crawl.
That’s all.
I’ve left this space
blank
for you.
On this page,
in my heart,
I’ll hold this place
open
always.
It isn’t much,
this emptiness –
but it contains multitudes.
It’s all that I can do.
*Thank you for your kind words and condolences. Knowing that you’re out there, thinking of us, just means a lot. Gatsby was one in a million, and I will always, always miss him. He gave us everything he could for his entire long and happy life, and he loved us so much. So in this new year, I aspire to honor him and remember him by loving like he did – unconditionally, and in your face, and completely.*
Welcome, New Year,
and please be kind –
I’ve had enough time
grieving.
I’m tired of
tears and loss,
of waiting,
and of fears that
joy is fleeting.
I hope that things are
better
brighter
in this space you’re making,
and that you bring
new light
and hope.
I’ve done my best,
and I’m still trying,
but a little help
would sure be nice.
We’ll create something
together,
I know.
May it be –
please let it be –
something good.
I think I’ve cried every day since August.
I think I’ve cried more tears this year than in my entire life before it.
I think I’ve cried so many tears that the universe had to make extra to give me.
I think I’ve cried enough for more than just me and I love those women who couldn’t cry.
I think I’ve cried enough tears to fill a vast and endless and deep and wide ocean that only I can cross.
I think I’ve cried enough.
I think I’ve cried enough.
I think I’ve cried enough.
I can’t remember exactly who I was before August. But right now in this moment, after months and months, after recovering only to learn I hadn’t recovered, I think I’m ready to find her again. I know she’s waiting for me. We won’t be the same as we were. We’ll become someone new and strong and brave and happy together.
I can’t say why now is the time, when the time wasn’t before, in September, or in October, or in any of those liminal days in the autumn that I love so much.
And if you gave me a million chances to explain why I feel like I should share this with all of you, I don’t think I could tell you all the ways that knowing you’re out there reading and creating and making good things and putting them into the world has helped me heal, a little bit and a little bit, every day.
Nevertheless, here we are.
Here I am.
And I just wanted to tell you thank you and I love you for sticking with me and bringing me light, and also that I finally think I’ve cried enough.
At night
in the dark and quiet
I sometimes dream it
turned out differently,
ended happily,
that maybe somewhere
in some universe
you stayed
and we’re
together.
Dreams can be
funny
hopeful
painful
things,
can’t they?
But in that dreaming place,
at least,
I can kiss your face
and tell you,
“Good morning,
good night.
Goodbye.”
Every year,
the name of the game is:
“Find the perfect gift.”
You ask what I want,
and my answer is just:
“Don’t get me anything.”
And, despite what
the Christmas machine may say,
yes, I really mean it.
Your presence is
my perfect present,
dearest friend of mine,
and no amount of money
will replace your gift of time.
They say:
“Life is short,”
and I know it’s true,
so here’s what I want from you:
Just yourself.
Nothing else.
I love you, not stuff.
(Yes, I’m telling you the truth.)
(Sure, bring your dog.)
(Your kid, too.)
(Please just come hang out with me.)
(I promise it’s enough.)
‘Tis the season
for light and dreams,
and holly
and jolly days,
parades and parties and presents,
and also
busy-ness.
So busy,
in fact,
that it’s hard to enjoy
the holly
and jolly
and cheer.
But we’re here!
One more year,
one more tree,
and so many reasons
to be merry.
We’re here,
and we’re happy,
and yes,
‘tis the season.
But man,
I’d love a nap.
We wait
for the
right
time
as if
time
cares
to be
right or wrong
A Virginia Writer's Diary 