The irony is the art in my life is in letting people and animals go. If this is strange to say then forgive this (please). I spend thoughts, hours, waking and not, just trying to formulate the processes structured and creative for writing, photography, 'art.' There is amost no legitimate process for any of it except "go, go, go" and now I have a bit of stop-motion happening. Ha!
With the gentleman out of the house as tenant and/or boyfriend, maybe permanently, though i'd rather have things as they were right now ease into the next phase of living between us, I am estranged and scared--estranged from the love (romantic) (geographically and physically) in the present land scared of the lovelessness, solitude, anger left in house. That house. My house. Our house. Our louse. 'A very very very fine house.' The anger is not all him and i. It is a love overgrown, a mother's love overgrown. It is learning daily to say :no,: to a nurturing, chastising udder.
I don't wanna give away my heart again. I am in love still and it has only been a few days as Eric informs me but that's not it. The pattern has been disrupted. The regularity. The knowing.
I want my grizzly back.
---E---
