Diaries

Today is my birthday, a big birthday, and all I could think about was you. While I got ready for work, I played Christmas music, the kind you would like because I wanted the day to be December. Because maybe that’s the month you think of me. I sprayed perfume on my wrists, one you mentioned in a store one day while we were shopping. I wore blue jewelry with some earrings you bought me along with the ring that I think was supposed to be a proposal of marriage. And as I drove down the road before exiting my neighborhood, there was a strange sighting of a cardinal– the brightest red. He stood between grassline and asphalt, undisturbed by the passing cars. Motionless in alarm by the female that played in the wet morning dew grass, he watched her, and I thought of you that day I played in the snow, when you took my favorite picture of me. Today I will restrain myself from contacting you because what I want I cannot ask of you nor can you give it to me.  

Photo by Nirav Patel

This summer, I’ve been trying– waiting– to get back to myself. Even when I laugh, I don’t recognize that part of me.  The laughter that comes out is erratic and untuned.  It’s been too long since joy was a true utterance of mine.  I forget that birthing, no matter how many times, is messy.  

Photo credit: Unknown

I watched a man walk down a hallway with his two little kids. I remembered what it felt like to have my foster girls and feeling like I had no real connection to them.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to attach myself for harm that I would be hurt as they weren’t mine and would be taken away, given back to their parents.  I thought for a moment what it would be like to be that man with my own children.  They are your kidneys, I thought.  Just because they are outside your body doesn’t make them lesser to care for but even more so outside our bodies.  

Photo credit: Freepik