“When my time comes around…”
Yes. This is the song. That I remembered and waited for. This is the song that spoke to my soul about how yours didn’t speak to mine. How yours spoke to someone elses.
I remembered the song that spoke to your soul for me. How you sang in that soft way. Lost in the way only a dancer could be lost. I could find our song if I wanted to. But I don’t care as much anymore. The comfort of your past love for me is no longer comforting. I have no desire for it. I remember how we left. And what was left. And what wasn’t.
Koya played your song, for your woman, in my car while we drove around together. She didn’t know it, or maybe she did. Maybe she knew I was ready for the next layer and she presented it.
We had a lot to say in the spaces between music yesterday. We had to sit in the space of music for a long time. That common language. The language that speaks to our souls in a way we can’t find the words. She and I spoke that for hours. It’s been a big year for us. My dear girl.
Grief is layered and multi-tiered. I never know exactly when it will hit only that it will. I forget this too. I’m surprised by how swept into emotions I am. How crumbled. How vulnerable and open. I don’t want it to stop. It’s not like I wish it away when it happens. It’s more that I fear the depth will grow greater. Consume me. Rip me out of myself and leave me forever unsteady.
When I start understanding my capacity for love it makes me protective of myself. I am sacred. An empress who has to insulate herself because her nature is to expose and it isn’t her time yet. She still has unfolding.
I reach out to my Sara for protection. For reminding me how to protect and uncurl the pieces that have laid dormant. Winterized.
It isn’t spring yet. Soon.
“When my time comes around. Lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to her.”
How this speaks to my soul now. Without it speaking to yours. Or how yours spoke to hers.
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