I sent you notes. Lovely little notes. You blushed. I did not think you would blush.

Your hand tucked the note to your inside jacket pocket and you smiled. Sheepish. Adorable.

Your hands outstretched, I came to you.

You were young, so you were a bit awkward. I didn’t care. Awkward was fine. But, I let little things that should have been red flags that you would be a life-long liar slip by like toy sailboats on a pond.

You always thought you knew more than me, and made sure I knew it. How did I not notice it then? How did I let it slip by, over and over and over? Toy sailboats.

I built up a tolerance.

We rode home in my old car–a hand-me-down from my parents. We talked for hours. I would eventually migrate to your lap, or we would end up on the curb, thighs touching, leaning warm onto each other.

You bought me flowers sometimes. I have photos for evidence, because you tried to make me believe it didn’t happen. You were a master at gaslighting, with the word “ridiculous” always at the ready to hack off another piece of my self-esteem.

You said you never loved me. But you did. You just can’t let her know that, because then she’d have to wonder if the little things you do now that make her feel loved will some day be magically disappeared by the very person who made her believe they existed. Like you did to me.

At least it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s like recalling an old movie that you’ve seen dozens of times. Only you don’t really like the movie, and some people in the movie are saying you remember it wrong. I suppose we all take something to, and away, from things like that.

I remember when I was gutted. When it felt like I could never get to a place of indifference. And even if I did, it would be tragic.

It’s not tragic. It’s freeing.


Faith Lost and Won


If your temple tumbles into the insistent sea, and your faith feels lost and broken, keep your mantras close, and the memory of your worship sacred.

Build a new temple of trees and sky. Build a new faith of the shattered remains of you. Let the thick scars twist and bend and be a memory of faith lost and won again.

Happy Valentine’s Day – A Racing Brain At 4am

wchbwLaying there, one fleshy pale leg resting on top of yours. Layers of blankets hugging us to the bed, I pretzel and twist – one of my arms over my head, one of yours, over yours. I find your fingers with my left hand and you squeeze them, even though you are mostly asleep. I try to touch as much of my skin to yours as I can, curved like a bean next to you. I lay my head in the sweet spot that your body has made for it. Was made for it, long before I met you. When you were born, maybe. I put my right arm across your chest. I know you love this – a woman resting on your chest. “There is something so…satisfying…beautiful, about it,” you once said. Or something like it.  And even years later there is an impression there, and an image in my head. It’s faded like a washed-out photograph. You know the one. And it doesn’t hurt anymore, but it’s there. Maybe it always will be. I decide it doesn’t matter and I start a poem in my head. God, it’s almost 4 a.m. and I am composing words as I feel you breathe. None of the words are good enough. Some of them don’t even make sense. I will never be good enough, my brain says. But you already are, I counter. Your thigh is twice the circumference as his. And it feels good for that not to be something I hate. It’s a non-issue. I take that back. It’s a celebration. Continue reading

Emotional Day

Minolta DSC

I’ve had a really emotional day.  Not sad exactly, just lots of feelings bubbling up to the surface.

I’ve been watching my husband fall in love on stage every weekend.  He’s so beautiful and talented, I am just in awe of him.

I have this book about love and longing and hurt and adventure simmering inside and have had very little time to work on it.

So today was spent listening to haunting music and reading poetry and avoiding the work I needed to do.

Tomorrow, I will write about love and longing.  I will write about hurts and healing.  I will find a way to use these emotions to make something.  ❤

Red August Quote – Healing











Find out where to order Red August HERE

Red August Quote – Heart Holes











Find out where to order Red August HERE

The Wabi-Sabi Scar

We poured out our hearts in whispers.  You spoke, and I listened to your words, as we were sinking into the marshmallow bed.  Our faces were shadows only inches apart, and the room was quiet the way an adult’s bedroom is at night – all fan whirs and cotton sheet friction, and breathing.

Then I spoke and you listened.  Deeply.  Our perspectives were different, but our hearts in synchronization.

We talked about that time.  That scar.  The bad one.   And how it looked different from our respective views.  And then you said something like, our love has been tended carefully, like a bonsai tree.  Our love is like a wabi-sabi bowl, more beautiful for the broken part that was fixed.  And I imagined the crack that split us almost in half, now filled with gold.  Precious, strong, beautiful.  And I pondered that for a moment, ready to hold it a bit closer and replace my scar with a vein of gold.  Then you said that we, us, our love, is entwined … we are part of each other.  So tangled up and inseparable.  And I saw us, like a Klimt painting, gold swirls and stars, unable to tell where you end and I begin, as we float through the universe enveloped in a blanket of trust and love.  And as if on cue, you said that if you were to die and your spirit was floating around out there, that you would wait for me.   You would wait for my spirit to come find you when it was time and we would spend our time in the other-ether together.  Or something so close to that.  And I kept trying to repeat the last thing you said in my head so I wouldn’t forget it and could write it in our journal.  Then I chided myself for not just enjoying the moment and feeling compelled to record everything, which isn’t the same as engraving it on my heart.  So I just lay there, looking at the dark shape of your head and listened to your sweet protestations.  About Hindu re-incarnation and finding each other sooner next time.

I confessed to you – about then, the “bad” then … about something the scar left behind.  The thought that you chose me for this life … but the idea lingered that you saved your ether for her.  Maybe it’s selfish to want you throughout whatever transformations our souls will take (if any), but I can’t help myself, but I also couldn’t ask you for it.  And I cried, because you said it without even knowing I was living with that pain.  You reached out your fingers and touched that hurt with salve, easing the burn.  And I cried.  And you put your lips in my hair and told me how well we fit and how glad you are that we fought so hard for the us we are now.  And I melted into your embrace.

I told you about how I don’t like to write about deeply personal things in my blogs like I used to.  It feels so much more dangerous now than it once was.  And I wondered if writing about what has passed between us tonight was a mistake.  Or somehow cheapened it.  Or maybe it was a weird kind of bragging about recovering love from ashes.  But then I decided that I would write it all down because I wanted to remember it.  And I was also writing it for couples who are in a place that feels so dark and desperate they don’t think they will ever recover, because we did.

Tomorrow I am going to write some of the things you said into our couple’s journal.  I want to keep it close and remind myself that there is always light, even on a very dark night.

I’m super tired and can’t find the energy to look for an image to put with this or proofread it.  Goodnight ❤