6,7,8,9,10… then I let him go again.
At the moment I feel like my body and soul is like that little captured fish. Caught in a net, tangled and flopping. Trapped. I need to let it go - let it all out.
I expected this month to take its toll on me. Initially I hoped I could stick my head in the sand and spend every waking moment writing my story. I figured the more words I added, the closer I would be to the end of my story. I thought by doing this, it would be an awesome tribute to a wonderful woman.
Mostly I would find myself so absorbed that I wouldn’t need to think, let along try to process feelings that I can’t describe, even to my husband.
Except I failed miserably – managing only a grand total of 4,625. Piddly amounts not worth mentioning, nor worthy of their own blog post.
Yet I’m trying not to be too hard on myself. Like the caught fish, I am splashing and casting around inside that net of words. My story feels disjointed, its taken a belly flop into the deep blue right as the tide was heading out and landed on the rocks. Squashed. Smashed. Lost. I fear that I will not be able to pick up the pieces and using my magic pen, sew it all together. I fear that this story will forever languish in the to hard pile.
It would do well to remember that every tide that ebbs away will eventually flow back to shore.
So today on the eve of her anniversary - while I sit and yell at words that hide, as my bodies defence mechanism begins to rise to the tension that tomorrow may or may not hold – today I just be.