May 5th, 2014


And a cry I was not sure anybody heard, not the whole of it, not the
many worlds that made their existence within it, not the reach of its
vastness and excruciating poignance, escaped in a trickle from my lips
when through my open bedroom door I said to Brett, well what then?
What do I do? Do I settle? And what I was really saying is will there
ever be any release from the prison of this cry that no one can hear and
will I ever be loved and am I even worth such a thought, and Brett poised
and posed at the bottom of the stairs, coffee cup in hand, looked up steadily
and said, as if he heard the questions I was not asking I think you're lovely. 
Stick with me. I will never tell you to settle. And, as if a stone had been
thrown at a flock of seagulls, the fear and pain, the very cry itself, scattered
and rose to the textured ceiling and the day, like water, settled into itself in
a soothing lapping that belongs only to the still waters we dream of when
we dream of peace.