Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

Waking Up At Home

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My excitement in NewFoundland filled me with such volume. When I was there I kept having to tell myself to BREATH. Deep breaths fed my brain with oxygen so I may continue to explore. I have images flipping across my mind like a slide show, with only seconds on each one. I feel dizzy.
When the day arrived for me to make the second long drive into St. John’s I was excited again. There was never any feeling of being lost there. There was no moments of panic. There was no one expecting me. I was a feather caught by the passing winds.

Driving in the rain downtown to the Harbour was an eye opening experience. To walk up very sloped streets lined with colourful houses was like being in a story book. Was I experiencing it or was I being drawn on each page? There was no finger guiding me through a map. It was the colours on the street corners that determined my path.

Was I mesmerized by the beauty created in my mind? Could the mist and fog have been a dream? As I sit here in my room I wonder and question myself.
Months will have to come and go to pass before I understand what it has done to me. Even as I sit here I am trying to sort the purpose of its importance to me.
Could it just be a simple lesson in feeling a passion for something and doing it, on my own.
I know for a fact that another relationship will never be in my cards. I say this because I do not want one. When I love I give too much of myself. I have not the strength to loose again.

My body’s reaction to coming home is to get ill. I have been in bed for three days. With my growing weakness I fear it may be four, but I will resist and sit to write and hopefully draw. Perhaps its in this that I will find ???????? Something to hold on to.

 

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Author: ilovecloudstoo

I live in Canada though​ I was not born here. Newfoundland is where my heart breathes. Primarily I am a visual artist, welded and or cast bronze sculptures. Sylvia Plath may have been the seed planted in me that is creating poetry. Since then I have read so many great modern poets work. Art is my sustaining business poetry sustains my soul.

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