For so long
I breathed differently
in time spent away
travel moments
travel stories.
Freer to be me
more
alive – curious – spontaneous – accepting – open – soft-hearted
deeply engaged with art and music and food and strangers
I’d chance to meet
a me better than me
the me I miss when I’m not me.
The return to “real life” was with sadness
dread
the habitual heart hardening
needed to live the lie
Montresor to my own Fortunato
layering building stone and mortar
one tier at a time
until silence muffled the screams.
Different now –
to leave and return the same person
same openness and quirks
a pen in hand
friends in my heart
a body no longer lonely
even when alone.
Fear,
undetectable shapeshifter,
returns, as fear is wont to do,
seeping through crevices
air vents
moth holes
the quiet interstitial places between
breaths I remember to take
expands to fill this full-up space inside
jostling
sights – experiences – music – books – poetry – art – beauty.
“I am more whole without you,”
I write.
Truth returns, as truth is wont to do,
vanquishing Fear.
I’d make a better wife to nostalgia
painted canvasses
poetry even
(though a favorite poet has written about this, so for once I will not).
I love for the story it creates
which offers no worldly place
for the brown-eyed man
who wants to be loved for himself.