121 – Mon, Jul 23, 2018, 9:04 PM

Dandelions over Te Ti Bay, Waitanga, New Zealand (Miranda Hernandez)
Dandelions over Te Ti Bay, Waitanga, New Zealand (Miranda Hernandez)

This is the fourth letter I’ve tried to write. I have nothing. The words don’t come.

I have decided I will continue this one, even if I just write “fuck.” Because fuck — at least that’s real.

I felt drawn to the beach today. Not the crowded one walking distance from my house. Our house? Why don’t we have a home?

Last week, I went to visit the class I would have been in. I didn’t realize it at the time; these things all blur together for me. I went looking for a tutor, and she remembered me. And I realized, this is where my life could look different. I might have been the one she was complaining about, always rushing home to be with my child. I could have been that person, you should have been here.

I had a conversation yesterday, another conversation about how things are both the same and also different. I wonder if I should have come here. I wonder when anything will feel worth it again.

I have tried so many times to write to you, and of course part of the problem is this numbness. I hate this present numbness. It pulls me from you. And in this pulling, it somehow leaves me feeling lesser things, and I hate it. Because your loss was clean, and I hate feeling anything that’s not about you. And somehow, I still do.

And I think back to that night, when things started changing. And there’s a huge part of me that wishes I hadn’t allowed them to.

~

Well. I don’t know if I believe in signs. I definitely don’t believe the way many do, that you are watching over me, sending me signals. But she looked at me with so much terror in her eyes, and I helped her. And if she isn’t from you, she can still carry something. She can fly.

 

Seagull feather on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)
Seagull feather on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)

~

I haven’t written, lately, because words have felt hard. I haven’t written, lately, because my attention hasn’t been focused on you. And I want to apologize, because I remember those early days when I thought I would never stop thinking about you. And this new life feels foreign, and frighteningly shallow. and I’m scared of becoming again the person I was before you.

I’m here by the ocean. It’s quiet today. It’s almost always quiet here, I think that’s why I like it. The air is always colder here. I came prepared with blankets. I’m huddled all in layers, staring at the water.

I remember your memorial, and the bonfire by the ocean. I remember trying to speak, people so very far away. I remember feeling like nothing felt right, scrambling at the last moment for something else to say. I remember that calm moment between the outgoing and the in, when everything just — stopped. If I hold onto anything, it’s that in-between. It’s the space inside that moment where everything collides.

I haven’t written lately, though I’m overwhelmed with feeling. But these feelings aren’t about you, and that’s its own kind of hard.

And I’m reduced to that single word — fuck.

I curse this numbness and all distractions from missing you.

I miss knowing how to miss you.

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