The circus, cancan,

from times we know so well from --


movies. Black and white.

If I take one hand, and place it in yours, are we sharing hands or are we sharing a moment?
~~~~
It seems that so many times, one person may not see enough of the other to truly respect and understand the intentions and thoughts of each other.

We may be frightened and lose sight of the goals and opportunities we are presented.

I look forward to the future, don’t dwell on the past, and cherish the present.
And it is all already with you.

So frequently one may be clouded and not see the beautiful things and beautiful people around themselves.
So frequently we convince ourselves of worry and angst and
so frequently we blind ourselves of any escape we may have.

I had coffee with myself from 10 years ago. We both ordered the same thing: a grandé white mocha.

As I sit down, I see the sadness in his eyes; the same sadness I remember all too well. I want to tell him that it gets better, but I can't bring myself to lie.

We both sit in silence, but the emptiness of noise between us tells each of us all we need to know. Finally, he asks me a question. "Are we married yet?"

I tell him no, we're still single, not even dating. When he asks me why, I tell him the truth: because I don't believe in love anymore; because I don't believe it can happen to me, so I stopped giving it out so freely.

He's shocked and disappointed. Love is all he knows. It's why he does everything he does, it's what makes him who he is. If we don't have love, then what else is there? What's the point?

So, I tell him that all the love I had left died when dad did. But he can't bring himself to admit how sad that makes him feel. He's too mad at dad right now for being unfair, for not being there when he needed him. He doesn't understand the sacrifices being made, the demons being fought.

After a bit of silence, he asks how Dad died, but first he assumes that he went peacefully, surrounded by family and friends, that we all got the time and closure we needed. He asks me if we ever made up with Dad and got along.

With a tear in my eye, I tell him no. There was no grand gathering, and no one got any closure. It was sudden and it devastated us, so I'm the provider now. He asks how I provide for two households. I laugh lightly and say that I don't. We never got to make our own life.

He asks about work. I tell him that we've been through some adventures in the jobs we've had and the friends we've made. There's a good amount of money, but it still sadly isn't enough for everything. So, he asks why I don't look for something better. I change the subject.

Next, he asks about our health. He sees the changes, the wear and tear on my face. Our health was something we were once proud of and took seriously. Before I can answer, he sees the monsters in my eyes. The ones I face every day. He's petrified. I tell him it's okay, we're making it. I don't tell him about the disease, the scary hospital visits, the testing and procedures that we go through. I don't tell him about 2018, or the darkness and trauma that comes with it.

I see a light in my younger self's eyes that isn't there anymore in mine. He's so hurt and longing for more, but he doesn't realize what he has; he doesn't understand true loss yet. He'd be happy if he'd quit being so stubbornly sad.

I smile a sad smile at him and tell him the good news: we make an impact, a real difference, in people's lives. Not many, but enough. That's what makes everything worth it. There's a lot of loss and pain, but also a lot of laughter. We become so strong and courageous that the monsters eventually don't scare us anymore. God becomes a bigger presence in our lives.

As my coffee cup empties, I bid him goodbye, and tell him to tell a better story when he's the one sitting in my place at the table. As I walk away, I feel a part of him taken with me, and I feel a part of me left with him.

Neither of us will be the same. But we'll be okay, because we have to be.

Carry only a backpack into the future’s embrace,
Leave behind the luggage of yesterday’s trace.
It costs dearly to drag what’s past,
Travel light, for freedom holds fast.

Still being attached to you shreds my soul.
I can tell you played a damaging role.
I still feel the blade you left in my chest.
I want to break free, tired of being possessed.

I’m sick of wearing mask of joy.
I see you think that I’m a toy.
I fear nostalgia tricks me here.
And past days suddenly seem real.