Talk Without Speaking

They say I am strong and I might, grudgingly, agree with them. I don’t feel strong though. No, I do not feel strong at all. I am surviving this though so I suppose that is evidence towards their side of the argument. I am aware that there is a breaking point for everything though and so I just do my best to stay away from that - we all do what we need to do to survive.

It is a daily struggle though. A daily fight to find a way to be ok. The moon spins around - phase in - phase out; the tides flow in, the tides flow out. I ebb along with all the oceans of the world, struggling to pull myself up and out.

This is the view down from the dock on Bowen; the path to the kayaks, the path to the tide. The heron sits by the shack and stalks. I think and worry about what the future holds although I am well aware that there is no point to this. Martin wants me to come and guide again. I feel conflicted in my head about what the responsible choice is although this decision might not be mine to make. I can’t think about this without thinking about the conversations of the past two summers; discussions with my father about the fun thing to do vs the right thing to do and the fact that this discussion will only take place in my head this year makes me so fucking sad I can’t even tell you.

They say that things will get better. Jeanne tells me to have faith, she tells me to have patience and I try. It is a blessing that time keeps flowing on and, oh, it is such a curse.

Simon tells me that he’ll chase the pigeons for me and my imagination of this future event is enough, for today, to start the curl of a smile to think about, maybe, crossing over my heart.

I am trying.