Spent the early morning on the boardwalk, watching the sky light up on Bellingham, Washington. There, I read a love letter—I want to say an old one, but it was dated only this past July--and a poem, the love from both I wanted to offer up to the sea, hoping that nature would know better how to dispense it.
What I realized is that I don’t have the power to take back what I’d freely given. That love, as much as I’d like to control it, is unwieldy; it doesn’t work like that.
I am perturbed by my own heart, which refuses to stop loving even now when it hurts. All my usual defense mechanisms appear broken. It has been patient and understanding. It has continued to give. It stays, despite it all, open.
So, instead, looking out onto the Puget Sound, I prayed. I prayed to the Sound, to her healing waters, I prayed to God to pacify the hurt and sadness that I can’t help but feel, to flush out the bad feelings and refresh the good ones.
My former beloved turned friend (can change be that swift, really?) was there, holding me as I poured out my hurt feelings, emptying that--for a change--into the sea.