Knots that ought

It’s been a year of eeking out a sentence here or there, a small revision or a bit of processing at night, before bed, under covers and pillows. Pushing the foggy-tied thoughts of a blurry existence and pulling through a sort of focus just long enough to watch it fade away. I find I’m not sure how to spell things like pry or existence anymore. I add an “h” or an “s” where none is needed, or even wanted. But that is the way things have gone, isn’t it? We didn’t want this or even need this, but then we had no choice in the matter, which is often the case when something catastrophic happens. And where are my headphones when I need them? I have six pair: lightning cable, dongle adapter, USB-ready or Bluetooth. I can take my pick. It’s my choice. So, there is that, I have a choice in some matters. A strong choice and one that should not be taken lightly, even as the world seems to be opening a space for more conversations, more imagined places to escape into, and those cracks that seemed so small before have become a bit of a problem. There are shows to watch, more than ever, and books to read or listen to, an abundance.

Time. Goes. By. In unfamiliar increments. Was it all a memory or dream?

And then there are those conversations. Through half-open eyes, struggling through dry mouth, tight necks and shoulders, and a sore lower back, the words come out and they do the best that they can. At most a point of connection, at the least more pushing away and silence. A series of knots, in shoulders and backs, that turn into oughts. A trail of guilt and overwhelming love for those we still hold dear. I hold dear. And forget myself in those dear ones. Through tears I am undone with fear and purpose. Keeping safe those I love and holding it together as often as is possible. It’s been a year. I don’t have to tell you that, but sometimes I need to acknowledge all that reticence held deep in my gluteal muscles and captured, held under duress, in my molars and jaw: A screaming place that rarely gets to.

A fear that I could have done more, better, for longer.

Where are your knots?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s