Eulogy for a Raven was the working title
I named it something else.
Blow forth the winds
Bring on the rain
Let him see my face
And wash away my pain
Wisp the leaves up
Shift everything about
Let him find himself happy
And banish any doubt
I'm the one
I'll always be
Keep me in mind
Find your way back to me
I wrote this sometime in 2001ish for a friend that, in today's terms, ghosted me. Every trace of him in every molecule in my being I gathered together and tucked away into the deepest recesses of my shattered heart. I wiped him from my memory. The only part of me that held on to anything he once was, was locked away where no one could discover or reach him.
He was one of my best friends. He was my memory. My forever secret. Even he had no idea of the depth of what he was to me. He was mine, and mine alone. And now, he was my ghost.
I knew that with time, maybe he'd find his way back. Diana Gabaldon wrote in one of her books that if the concept of time is akin to God, then memory must be of the devil. I found throughout my life that my brain likes to record random bits and pieces of significant events and locks them away. My memories are like ghosts, and my body is where they haunt. Sometimes my senses betrayed me and would come within proximity of the tiny space that I locked him away in. I would smell a certain cologne, or a tequila cocktail, and every once in awhile I would see the ghost in my peripheral vision. I'd hear a song, and the ghost would flitter for a half second. I'd watch a television show or video, and an actor or singer would conjure up an image of him, because dopplegangers exist. When I put my punk chains on my belt loops, or slip my ankh over my head and adjust the silver ball chain strand, I'd remember his dog tags, or the similar chain he wore on his belt. The only sense that upheld my promise to never speak of him again was taste. I hadn't tasted him since shortly before that fateful day in 2001 when I realized that all means of contact with him were severed. After I cleared every last vestige of him from my life, I made a pact with the devil, that when enough time passed, then the devil could have his moment and come out again.
That happened earlier this month. He visited us for 2 days and then he went home. After being locked away for 21 years, the devil has come out with a hunger and vengeance, demanding to be seen, heard, smelled, felt, and fed. I have not felt this overwhelmed emotionally since Pops died. The events of last year that happened between me and the man -- they ruined me financially, but I was strong and stoic throughout the entire ordeal, handled myself like the boss ass bitch I grew into -- those don't even come close to how emotionally overwhelmed I feel about all of this.
The heart wants what it wants and is a selfish, fickle bastard; all logic and reasoning be damned. In unpacking that space I tucked him away into, I realized that nothing on my end has changed. As we've started talking more over the last 2 weeks, trying to figure out where we went wrong, trying to make sense of why the chasm between us was so deep and intimidating, I've held as much back as possible because most of the shit I went through and recorded here from the time I restarted this account until about 2006 were somehow centered around him as much as they were around me and J. I may have willfully forgotten him and excommunicated him from my life, but the heart didn't forget, betraying me subconsciously by leeching out little bits of those *goddamned stupid fucking feelings* out. And I lashed out. I burned bridges. I hurt myself. I hurt others. I went scorched earth mode and metaphorically burned my immediate surroundings while simultaneously enveloping myself in a cocoon of isolation. It was only throught the isolation (and years of therapy) that I was able to emerge and rebuild, but the damage had been done. Some ties are unrecoverable, and for that I do have regrets.
But in unpacking and exorcising these ghosts and demons, I come to find that all those feelings were possibly just as strong on his end as they were on mine, and we wasted half of our lives apart trying to live as if that chasm didn't exist between us. He had been afraid it was too late. I told him it was never too late, there was always a light burning. He just needed to be ready to come back. I would have waited until my dying day just to see him return, but I'm glad that it happened now. Too many years have passed and we're both 40somethings and time is no longer on our side.
I dare not mention his name. He's still my secret to keep. I share him with no one else. He is precious to me and while I'm happy to have him in any capacity that he will allow me to, I'm grateful that there's potential on the horizon for something more. Bottom line though is, I love him.
I confessed my secret about him to him two days ago. I think it caught him off guard and I was afraid I overshared way, way too soon. He was still working through all the fog on his end and here comes me and my tsunami of memories. I knew I fucked up. But he's still here, and I think as we chip away at the walls we both erected to protect ourselves, dumping the remnants into the chasm to try and close the gap, things are going to reach some sort of equilibrium. Right now it feels like we're weathering a storm, and we just have to ride it out.
I am a former surfer girl, so I know how to ride a wave. I will figure this out one day at a time.
But there it is. A summarized version of what happened, for the first time, breathed out into the ether. The only secret left is his name, and I can't share him yet. Time will tell me when it's right. It took me 21 years to finally be able to say anything about any of this.
That's it. I have no other words. I'm just overwhelmed and I want to cry. I want to mourn the loss of the years. I want to see him again and put his hand on my heart so he can feel what he does to me.
But as before, I have to wait. At least, this time, I know there will be a next time.
Blow forth the winds
Bring on the rain
Let him see my face
And wash away my pain
Wisp the leaves up
Shift everything about
Let him find himself happy
And banish any doubt
I'm the one
I'll always be
Keep me in mind
Find your way back to me
I wrote this sometime in 2001ish for a friend that, in today's terms, ghosted me. Every trace of him in every molecule in my being I gathered together and tucked away into the deepest recesses of my shattered heart. I wiped him from my memory. The only part of me that held on to anything he once was, was locked away where no one could discover or reach him.
He was one of my best friends. He was my memory. My forever secret. Even he had no idea of the depth of what he was to me. He was mine, and mine alone. And now, he was my ghost.
I knew that with time, maybe he'd find his way back. Diana Gabaldon wrote in one of her books that if the concept of time is akin to God, then memory must be of the devil. I found throughout my life that my brain likes to record random bits and pieces of significant events and locks them away. My memories are like ghosts, and my body is where they haunt. Sometimes my senses betrayed me and would come within proximity of the tiny space that I locked him away in. I would smell a certain cologne, or a tequila cocktail, and every once in awhile I would see the ghost in my peripheral vision. I'd hear a song, and the ghost would flitter for a half second. I'd watch a television show or video, and an actor or singer would conjure up an image of him, because dopplegangers exist. When I put my punk chains on my belt loops, or slip my ankh over my head and adjust the silver ball chain strand, I'd remember his dog tags, or the similar chain he wore on his belt. The only sense that upheld my promise to never speak of him again was taste. I hadn't tasted him since shortly before that fateful day in 2001 when I realized that all means of contact with him were severed. After I cleared every last vestige of him from my life, I made a pact with the devil, that when enough time passed, then the devil could have his moment and come out again.
That happened earlier this month. He visited us for 2 days and then he went home. After being locked away for 21 years, the devil has come out with a hunger and vengeance, demanding to be seen, heard, smelled, felt, and fed. I have not felt this overwhelmed emotionally since Pops died. The events of last year that happened between me and the man -- they ruined me financially, but I was strong and stoic throughout the entire ordeal, handled myself like the boss ass bitch I grew into -- those don't even come close to how emotionally overwhelmed I feel about all of this.
The heart wants what it wants and is a selfish, fickle bastard; all logic and reasoning be damned. In unpacking that space I tucked him away into, I realized that nothing on my end has changed. As we've started talking more over the last 2 weeks, trying to figure out where we went wrong, trying to make sense of why the chasm between us was so deep and intimidating, I've held as much back as possible because most of the shit I went through and recorded here from the time I restarted this account until about 2006 were somehow centered around him as much as they were around me and J. I may have willfully forgotten him and excommunicated him from my life, but the heart didn't forget, betraying me subconsciously by leeching out little bits of those *goddamned stupid fucking feelings* out. And I lashed out. I burned bridges. I hurt myself. I hurt others. I went scorched earth mode and metaphorically burned my immediate surroundings while simultaneously enveloping myself in a cocoon of isolation. It was only throught the isolation (and years of therapy) that I was able to emerge and rebuild, but the damage had been done. Some ties are unrecoverable, and for that I do have regrets.
But in unpacking and exorcising these ghosts and demons, I come to find that all those feelings were possibly just as strong on his end as they were on mine, and we wasted half of our lives apart trying to live as if that chasm didn't exist between us. He had been afraid it was too late. I told him it was never too late, there was always a light burning. He just needed to be ready to come back. I would have waited until my dying day just to see him return, but I'm glad that it happened now. Too many years have passed and we're both 40somethings and time is no longer on our side.
I dare not mention his name. He's still my secret to keep. I share him with no one else. He is precious to me and while I'm happy to have him in any capacity that he will allow me to, I'm grateful that there's potential on the horizon for something more. Bottom line though is, I love him.
I confessed my secret about him to him two days ago. I think it caught him off guard and I was afraid I overshared way, way too soon. He was still working through all the fog on his end and here comes me and my tsunami of memories. I knew I fucked up. But he's still here, and I think as we chip away at the walls we both erected to protect ourselves, dumping the remnants into the chasm to try and close the gap, things are going to reach some sort of equilibrium. Right now it feels like we're weathering a storm, and we just have to ride it out.
I am a former surfer girl, so I know how to ride a wave. I will figure this out one day at a time.
But there it is. A summarized version of what happened, for the first time, breathed out into the ether. The only secret left is his name, and I can't share him yet. Time will tell me when it's right. It took me 21 years to finally be able to say anything about any of this.
That's it. I have no other words. I'm just overwhelmed and I want to cry. I want to mourn the loss of the years. I want to see him again and put his hand on my heart so he can feel what he does to me.
But as before, I have to wait. At least, this time, I know there will be a next time.