Run, run, run.
Stop, in Paradise, grow roots here, for now.... we are spending Summer here.
There doesn't seem to be much to go back for- a handful of people we love, and who love us, but not enough to cotton wool us, to protect us from the bumps and bruises of that pain.
Run, and run. Work. All day, attend to my children's every need, do my housework, keep my garden. Sleep, if both my children sleep, to pass the hours, make each day go faster.
I don't know why. I don't know what I'm rushing toward.
And then, when the children sleep- work. Fill every hour with projects and writing and learning.
And try not to think. Because I am so exhausted of thinking, so exhausted of relaying the same thoughts over and over. I try and spill them, purge them, let them flow blood red all over this keyboard, every day...
And yet still they come. My head is so full of thoughts. It feels like a dam, filling up with water... this blog a tap that continually running, the same clear liquid of guilt and pain over and over.
But there is hope, here. Not hope, as such, as much, as truth. Knowledge.
I am a survivor. There is nothing fun, or joyful in that.
But I survived this.
I can survive anything.
There's life in that.
"I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself"
T.S. Eliot
***
I can't wait for summer here. It smelt like sprng today.
Long days, the beach, sand and salt; a million miles away from the smog and grot and grime and sweat of a suburban heat wave.
Summer... and it will be one year. How much will that heat, those long nights, make me remember what happened last year, on long twilit nights like those? Will I want to remember? Is summer really going to bring any relief, or am I just holding out desperately for something, anything, to get me through this, the saddest, coldest winter of my life...?
We'll see.
Run, run....