something personal

I sometimes miss those rainy dreary days when I’d wake up early in the morning to grey cloud filtered light, barely able to see the paper of my journal in which I’d write and I’d listen to the same music over and over again because it explained exactly how down I felt in anticipation of facing every inevitable bad day that I knew would always be the same, dragging me lower and lower nearly towards an inescapable fate. As horrible as those days were, I felt so real in the mornings contemplating what had become and where I was and what I wished for with just enough hope that someday a difference would come. My children, just babies then, would come and sit on my lap as I listened and thought and wrote sad things, sipping yerba mate that helped me hang on while I held on to them and the rare feeling in my world that felt right. By the time the first was older, the second came and sat on my lap just the same and I wrote more sad things in that same place under the grey cloud filtered light again as if the sun never shined but in those eyes, asking again to be held and content in that moment to be held by me is a feeling I can still remember and how right it felt.