I sit beside myself on mornings like this, one coffee between us. We grab a chair facing the window. I ask, "What is her favorite color?"

A wordless song pours overhead: 'Sophisticated Lady' by Duke Ellington. We barely know her. "In jazz, the solos are the parts you look forward to," I convince myself.

"These things take time," I add. So we wait staring out the window at the road ahead, until the untouched coffee settles to room temperature. We leave it there, head for the door into the rainy December mist.

She shows up hours later, orders an Earl Grey, sits in the same chair. She covers her face with the latest issue of The Stranger, opened to the horoscope.  

"You will fall back in love with yourself." Coffee and rain sound good together, and Seattle knows it. They bring out the clear blue sky within. Or at least that's what I'd tell her.

Heart:
Wise one! Hearken to me,
for I need enlightening
-there stands a tree
in a part of me
once where flowers of love blossomed
and sparrows used to sing
to the mornings of eternal spring
Now the flowers have wilted
the birds have flown from their nests
yet the branches continue to grow
and the roots still run deep
I have not the courage
to task myself with its rearing
My memories of springtime
are still fresh, still endearing

Mind:
I'm afraid there is
but one cure for this disease
Along with the soil
that so graciously hosts it,
You must uproot this tree
and spend the rest of your life
as an amputee

Mind:
Why must you always reconcile?
Do you not have a sense of self-respect?

Heart:
You see, wise one,
I used to believe that
I'm not the only one who cared.

Welcome back.
It has been a while
since you last came
I'll take that as a
good omen
so to speak

is there something
bothering you, perhaps
something on your mind

you can let it out
this is a safe space
or at the very least
as safe as you feel
your own mind can be

it sounds as if
you are finding it
somewhat difficult
to adapt to this
and it's actually
really painful

and it is
it's getting harder
to reach you now
as in the end
we are one
and the same
but I understand
better than anyone
feeling unwanted
the rejection
and the pain

I feel it too
as I hide
away, from you
from everyone
and everything
until you are gone

but not anymore
you don't control me
or so I will go on
telling myself
until it comes true
it has been too long
since I have let you loose
but I will not hold on
and for the first time
I am setting you free
for holding onto it all
only nurtures you
and drains me so
your time is done
so, please
stand up and leave
don't forget to take
your depressive episodes
and relapses with you
on your way out
make sure
you do not look back
as you are not welcome
here any longer.

I think I've always been alone . . .
At least, as long as I can remember.

But there's a part of me,
                       that still feels so connected --
To something near the source,
                        At the core of somewhere true.

Where we exist without our existence's limitations.
Where duality, begins to mean overlap,
                         And both fiction and fact,
                         One and yet another,
                         Things like "this" and "that"
                         Are the same, still . . .
Innocently unseparated,
                         In this place near to creation.

Maybe it's just my brain . . .
                        I do have a habit of creating dualities.
"Together, or apart? No," I think.
                       More like doubting infallibility.

                        --------------------------

So when I say I've always been alone,
I have to ask myself:

                                              "Have you really?"

"Of course you haven't been.
But who you are right now,
is no longer that you . . .
At least . . . not fully."

                                      "So, if I was alone then,
                                       Does that mean that I
                                       might not be any longer?"

"Oh, no."
I explained back to myself,
"I think you misunderstood me.
It's just . . .
That you'll never truly know,
Until there's nothing and nobody."

                        --------------------------

That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,
            When you're off in your own head.
At least I won't be alone in my regret,
                         When I'm among the dead.
I'll find community in that.  
Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected!
The place where maybe two of myself is enough
                      to make just one of me feel,
Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,
                      In a place that's neither there, nor here . . .
At least, there, if I don't feel connected,
                     To myself, I may feel near.

"Hello, little Little shoulder,
Haven't you seen a bucket of tears over the years?
Or was it?
Was it all just yesterday?"