How do you help keep people in the world? How do you remind people you rarely speak to that they are loved, that they matter? The ones who have stretched themselves to the edge of reach? Or so thin you can barely see them, translucent? Those who can fall away in a second if you try too hard or want just that little bit…
How do you let people know that you love them unconditionally when they fall away?
How do you let them know they are forgiven, that you have forgiven yourself?
How do you let people know there is so much more to share, experience, laugh about, explore, envision and aspire to?
Time is cruel. It takes away the minutes and turns them into years. We grow older. We grow old on the edges of disconnection.
Time. How easy it is to feel like it is yesterday, like the confusions or wonders or pains of childhood are so close, a heartbeat, memories filled with so much that can’t be undone, with parents who seemed not to notice the scars they buried their children under.
Adulthood took that away, thankfully, took away the elders that brought us back in a moment with a harsh look or words that took the air out of our lungs, words like, ‘Bitch. Nothing. Liar.” It takes so long to recover from these words hurled like weapons. A lifetime. And the fists and limbs that bruised our small faces and soft skin- have all turned inward.
We grow up and fumble our way around the world of adults, try to fit in and conform to what is considered ‘normal.’ No more illusions. It’s the great gift of age, not caring what the world thinks of me and forging my own path, even if it is hard or unusual.
But it was forged while others fell behind, while old wounds never did heal and with people who don’t know how to reach out their hands in the effort to feel or say, I love you, back.
And so, I do it. I say I love you from the rooftops, from the internet, from the crevices of my soul and heart and all the hidden spaces, just in case love is forgotten, just in case they don’t know. Just in case they forget they are not alone.
It’s all I can to do to reach the women who are far away, on the edge of their own worlds. If they can’t hear me now, maybe they will know or feel it in the quiet of sleep when the walls are not so high, when their inner guards are resting, when the weight of the past falls way to night in dreamtime.