and again. for the past nights, i have been dreaming of losing her again. or not losing. it all is so confusing.
my rational mind tells me- all that could have been lost, has been [lost], and there is nothing, nothing at all to be done about it.
my body memory, morphic memory, tells me that something has been lost, and there is a great big hole where the something was, and nothing can change that.
those are very, very different things.
i wish i could go with the rational mind- and disregard the morphic field. but i cannot. not out of want of trying.
%^&*()*&^%, i do not even feel anything. it is a *&^&%$%%* hole, after all, a nothing. an amputation.
and yet it has broken me to pieces again. i will survive.
and so, i dreamed of sitting round a fire with some … i wish i remembered who. people, probably – friends. and roasting meat on sticks, and some vegetables, and dough. and splashing ruby red wine into stainless steel mugs, bitter wine, very dry, and eating the hot, red meat and drinking toasts to her, and each toast had a story. about her, about our shared past.
i actually never got the chance to do this. not at the funeral, not later. those who share my love for her, are pretty much my kind of people. silent. private. unwilling or unable to tell those stories.
and this leaves me…where. right here, un-[insert-your-own-adjective-here].
here i lift my stainless steel mug full of valerian tea to you, mother. to you who left this hole in the universe – a hole large as life, and as deep. here is to you, lover of yellow roses, and pale lilies, and even the castor oil plant, and a friend to all lost entities, whatever the species.
to you, on your day of passing.