Back in my city, and summer hasn’t yet come. Thick fog wraps the structures in mystery and one can only guess at their complete forms.
Today, my mind and my heart are 500 miles away, contained in a small room with an obscured window, impatient for the sun, unclear on what crime led to this place.
A lifetime of thoughtful planning, of kindly putting others always first, of careful nutrition and exercise, of carrying out actions in methodical order, failed to make arrangements for a shift in reality that others could not follow and could not abide.
Neuro-biological illness, whether transitory or chronic, is difficulty to accommodate, and impossible to plan for.
The insidious nature of such diseases, that they hide themselves so well from hosts, while showing abundantly to complete strangers, makes them all the more tragic.
I’m used to rushing, but unused to schedules, and the pack shifts heavily on my back as my knees pound into the concrete, legs moving mechanically.
I don’t wear eye makeup anymore, it’s an invitation to the tears that always hover just beyond the edges of my bones.
She doesn’t want me to give up my life, doesn’t want me there. “It’s not worth it,” she tells me on our last good day, “go home.”
And another piece of my heart breaks off because I don’t know what will become of her. I am all she has, but she cannot be alone, and we both know it.
“We all walk alone,” she says as she closes her eyes
My legs move faster, I must be on that train, so I jump as the conductor shouts, “All aboard!”
#mymorningwalk