Monday, January 23, 2012

The winds showed up in the middle of the night, wuthering around the corner, shouting so loudly they woke me up. All of December's babies have been lost in January, and all of our days are turning into bear traps and quicksand. I only have so many limbs left. 

I was drinking with an old flame who has reappeared again (they almost all come around again and again and again; it seems I am about as hard to get over in retrospect as I am to appreciate appropriately when it counts), feeling the power shift back to where I am more comfortable, stretching all of those muscles and having a familiar kind of fun. Feelings are lined with spikes and monsters and I am tired of walking so carefully around them. We've never had much of anything in common but heat, and given how badly things have spiraled away from me lately it was nice to fill my hands with fire and nothing else. Fire is uncomplicated. I will take light where I can get it in these heavier times.

I've been tearing through town in the old ways lately, cold and charming and mean, making lemons into hand grenades. Not a single little bit of this is the way that I would choose for things to be, but at some point you have to look at the options you're given and walk forward from there. Mostly, I do not get to pick. Brambles and wolves and the cold expanding heart of the universe, and all. The lights at the ends of our tunnels could be sunshine and puppies, but it seems to me they're just as often only the beginning of more tunnels.

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