cookie jar

I’ll be the first in line to tell you it doesn’t go away. not at the first taste of that Russian River 90 point splash. no my love it doesn’t go away. like that first pair of glasses I ever bought, with you driving me home. it doesn’t vanish. who am I to complain? this is more than just the reason I give. leaving you there. telling myself over and over again. my love, it doesn’t go away.

they will tell you there isn’t a test. they will say it and smirk, cause it all is a challenge. brutal, with no escape. our death is just as easy as our living. there is a reason for everything. and the pending shift? my August to March? and the years after? what of the Saturn in my Pisces? long days ahead and the spirit will answer. your hicks and swan. the spirits will answer.

do you know what it is to be so far flung? the joy of that star born release? do you know the cloud is the cloud, and there is no way to remove it, once bathed in its condensation? questions at the goodbye, are questions for the next life. it’s ok.. call it death. return to it with wild running. return to that trigger point knowing that without it, we will not grow. and the wall is built and heart hardens. believe me love, it was easy to love you through the insistence of those triggers. maybe we were sick, depleted, and now here, transitioned and learning to glow. call it anything but chance. anything but a mistake. anything but forgotten.

and I have learned to limit the any, defining the thing and erasing the fact of the way I wouldn’t cry, bathed in that cloud. I couldn’t relive a moment of it, if I hadn’t committed to it.

I told a friend, that her friends were a cookie jar. if I pulled out one cookie, I would be obligated to bite it, forsaking all the other cookies. this is my experience, when love won’t leave you and the jar is full, something stops you from reaching again. this is my changed hand and broken speech. I want to reach again.

art credit: “Woman Looks at Cakes” Genevieve Naylor, Mademoiselle, ca. 1950