sometimes i think that, if i didn’t have to try, i could just sit.

just sit.

nothing more.

let the wind muss my hair, the rain soak my clothes and the day weigh my already heavy lids down over my eyes. let the sky blur into the ground where they collide in silent harmonies and the earth darken before me with age and weariness.

let the struggle out and the peaceful calm in and let them never fight over their rightful places again; just let them settle and leave me be.

so i can just sit.

i’m a pro-avoider but nothing stops your inquisitive questionings.

if i didn’t love you so much (and know that you do this for my own good), i’d tell you to bugger off!

i’m sending you all i’ve got.

i’ve become the master of avoidance. all of my troubles get brushed aside as though they are nothing more than fog that my vision must evade. swept up and stuffed away to where they cannot be thought of or dealt with, that is where i put them. my own disdain washes over me and i ignore it like all the rest, placing it where i wished it truly belonged; the lurching pit inside of me that’s rotting my soul.

what strange creatures we are to have built such a tall world around ourselves, trapping everyone inside its walls and going about our business as though we’re not mere animals like the rest of creation.

what fools we are.

Dear May,

You wandered along so soon and caught me completely by surprise. I’m not at all ready for you yet!

Don’t get me wrong - I’m happy to see you, for with you comes the biting winds and darker skies that make me feel so very alive and at home with the world. It’s just that, this year you’ve also brought along a lot of plans, too!

Everything’s creeping up on me and I’m trying to keep a brave face so as to not allow myself to feel overwhelmed.

I’ll embrace you as calmly as possible and, soon, I’ll watch you go. Until then, treat me kindly.

Kerri.

the greatest ache follows you through your days on tip-toeing feet that are icy cold as they leap down each disk in your spine. it holds on to your mind with a frighteningly calm grip from its position deep within your gut where the acid sloshes at its ankles and burns the darkened flesh there; lapping at your will as it’s dragged deeper; further from view, further from thought.

spindly fingers dig into your stomach and heave the weight of the rotting figure higher into your chest as the sun sets, as though it spends the day with its focus on the rise of the moon and, though sheathed in darkness, raises its head to the body’s shining light as though answering a beacon of hopeless misery with grotesque agony.

its vile tongue hacks a trench around your heart with sick enthusiasm that sears whatever tissue it finds and works the nerves there to a stop with slime that it repulsively lathers at their endings, so, while you’d become accustomed to the feel of the beating and nothing more, now you can no longer reach even that with the delicate digits of your mind. all that’s left is the ache.

with its arse buried in your middle, one fist full of your strength and another grabbing for your pride as its drool drips down your chilling heart, you lay helpless to its torturous fancies; paralysed inside and desperately fighting to maintain control outside.

the initial contact is always a stab in the gut that whisks the air from my lungs. always. no matter how often the visits. and then, instead of dissipating and allowing my blood to grow in warmth again and flood my system with life, it lingers like a cruel disease, cold and heavy in its placement; robbing me of senses and filling me with a stale sense of dread.

it is silly and stupid and senseless and it passes with time, but it just hurts so damn much.

it’s threatening to rip through my chest and grab my face with its icy hands, pulling it back down into the darkness it’s settled within. i’m sick of having to hold myself together while i ache on and on. just let my cry and scream and be taken. let me fall.

it’s really surreal to me that, even after four years, you can discover that there are things you still don’t own after losing them in a house fire.

things that you collect during childhood or that your parents had from when they were younger or needed whilst raising children.

today i need a measuring tape, like the one a dressmaker would use, which we previously kept in our sewing kit. of course, that tin case is gone now. it’s been gone for a long time. but we haven’t required a measuring tape in four years and so we haven’t bought one.

life’s always throwing you reasons to remember the past.

how worried i am, knowing that you’re about to tread the path that i found to be so treacherous. so unfriendly and cold.

how often i have to remind myself that you’re stronger - from your bones to your spirit in life and all the way down to your very soul - than i ever was and possibly could be.

i look forward to watching your life unfold before us both. it’s going to be full of such beauty and love, just you wait.

the butterfly weaves its way through the air in the same patterns, tracing messages that mean ‘forever’ on top of those of ‘love me’, ‘please’ and ‘come back’.

at times in swirls that test its slight little wings in their venture to carry the heaving body on and on, and at other times in tiny dips - up and down, up and down, painting out its heartbeat with the wind.

the butterfly continues weaving and painting and dancing, effort growing, strength tireless, as it waits for its long-since-seen love to return home.

i just can’t shake the weariness from my bones. the desire for slumber has settled deep within me and it refuses to let go.