without crying.

today is 5 years.

i’m boarding a plane.  on this day.  when 5 years ago i was flying high in love.

today.  i am burying myself in my child’s laughter.  while i try to bury my past with an uncertain future.

today.  i hope i can be better than i was.  enough to last for her.  for me.

and maybe for him.

today.  i hope he can be better.  for her.  for him.

and maybe for me.

for my child.  for myself.  for the memories of what was.

for the good times.  for the bad.  for the minutes that we had.

for our hearts.  for my head.  for the years that are dead.

in the meantime.  in the quiet time.  in the corners of my mind.

and when i wake.  when i dream.  when i can accept what has been.

we’re here.  not together.  but for this second we face the same future.

see.  i was just getting used to being happy.  i had a slight spring in my step.  the world was less crippling to be a part of.

and then.  you crop back up.  acidic.  vile.

serves me right i suppose.

allowing myself to believe it could better.  that i could be better.

and it’s nothing to do with anyone.  it’s just you and me.

but really.

it’s just me.

for those that watched me bloom and then wither.  to those that saw the first few tentative tendrils of hope emerge once again from the twisted corpse of my heart.

for all of you.  you know my own worst enemy has always been myself.  i’ve tried to fight.  i’ve lay down sword in surrender.  i’ve run away in cowardice.  i’ve shut myself down.  built walls.  worn masks.  and painted my eyes with ignorance.

all these things have only ever hurt or hindered.  i try to be blase.  to exude a confidence which still eludes me.  and my actions often are misinterpreted or are seen as game playing.  when all my thoughts are mixed up in my emotion addled mind.  i’m left with scenarios that are pleasant but impossible.  or sinister and improbable.  or mundanely likely and heart wrenching.

it’s these last ones that are the worst.  because they could happen.  perhaps they are happening.  these are the fears and imaginings based on reality.  on evidence at hand.

these are the images that invade my dreams.  they close ghostlike claws upon my throat and keep my breath from filling my lungs.  they grip my heart in a cold vise.  they drag me from calm slumber into the cacophony of my insecurities.  and it’s here that i find my justification for bad behavior.  in this dark corner i find the scared shadow of myself that whispers to run.  to close ranks.  to put up armor.  and bury my head in the sand.

while i know that recent events are lighting my way.  filtering in to the dark places.  and keeping me warm.  i can’t ignore the signs that are posted.

but i suppose.  i could take them for what they are.

the imagined signs of a woman scorned.

but not the truth of this life.

i don’t need to fight.  or to run.  or to sit and let it happen.

i can gently nudge myself in the best direction.  flow.  like water.  or air.  swirl into and out of the sharp crevices of life.  and lift my spirits and my heart.

i can chose to imagine my enemy.

or i can chose to imagine my friend.

i have a habit of procrastination.  why do today what i can put off for a week?  okay, it’s not that i mean to put it off so long.  but with a new baby.  everything takes a backseat.  things that perhaps i ought really pay more attention to.

but then.  even if i did i couldn’t do anything about it.

i’m on maternity leave.  i get some extra money from the baby daddy.  but even with this and with my mom here… i’m having to borrow money left right and center to keep afloat.  and i’m not doing so well.  my debt in the states is due to be paid.

and my bank account has just enough for rent and utilities here.

so i pretend that if i just don’t look at the statements… that the debt isn’t there.

as though i were a small child.

ignoring the dark closet.

and all the horrors it harbored within.

there was a time when i would say i didn’t want one.  i was happy to be childless.

there was a time when i would say i shouldn’t have one.  i was doomed to be childless.

there was a time when i would say i couldn’t have one.  i was meant to be alone and childless.

and now.  here we are.  the little life sprung from my body.  her frazzled crazy mother.  and her gently softening father.

we’re all babbling.  together and in different languages.

at some point we’ll be able to converse.

all three of us.

perhaps as a family.

but that’s just me babbling.

i feel old.  i feel young.

but this new life has just begun.

it’s going to be a good year.

it’s been a busy couple of months.  it’s been a hard couple of years.  my exile.  his exit.  my depression.  our less than successful attempts of reconciliation.  the successful impregnation of my womb.  my acceptance of how things are.  and my determination that things can be better.

even after all the bigtop like circus flair that has been going on in my limping love life.  somehow we still keep opening the door to each other.  this time i’m promising myself and my daughter that i’ll not push him away without first talking it through.  i hope he’s promising himself and our daughter that he’ll talk.

and though many things have happened in the near two years that should be roadblocks good and proper.  i’m stepping over them.  reaching past them.  and giving them less than a second thought.  there is a future here.  if we’re strong enough to build it.

i’m a dreamer.

and i’m painting those fences white.