"All that we are is a result of what we have thought." Lucky Numbers: 27, 12, 49, 7, 33, 40
Kinda shitty as far as "fortune" goes. More a statement of random fact. Kind of like my entire statements on "It is important to know your past because it will undoubtedly give birth to who you will become." Which really is all any of us can ask of each other and ourselves.
This all of course coursing through the frontal lobe right now 2ยบ to the conversations I've had these evenings w/ friends. Realizing that I feel like I've been wading in a shallow pool in some of the geographically closest friendships I have. I stop thru Toledo on the way home for the holidays & spend hours upon hours talking with friends there. Yes, there is a portion spent updating eachother, what I'm doing, what they are doing, what their kids are doing, and what our mutual friends are doing. Time spent speculating on mutual friends that have fallen off of the planet. But then there is time spent talking, really talking. We know eachothers' worlds: families, loves, losses, truths, fears, hopes, dreams, histories (even the parts we weren't present for), beliefs, passions, and regrets. Some we know more than others. Some are still being revealed as time keeps moving. When we met, as we spent time together, "back in the day" - we would talk, really talk. Expressed thoughts, and ourselves - yes I know desperate to be understood we told our tales, laid ourselves bare before eachother. We don't do that anymore. We leave that to the college kids, the young Turks all handsome and dashing. We now meet over drinks and keep drinking and next thing you know it is time to crawl into bed or home. There are no endless cups of coffee and tea; periodically broken by snacks. Ok, and at the time cigarettes - almost all of my friends used to smoke. Now we're older Silver Girl, and there is no time for such things, no one listens and everyone is afraid to talk. Or they are all like me and keep forgetting that no one knows me here. No one was around for the past so they aren't aware of it. So many people around me are new, they didn't get the call when my dad died. They weren't with me when Adam passed, or Johnny, or Justin, or Granny (my favorite sleeping dragon - my god, I wrote a 2 page epic poem about what it felt like to watch over her as she slept - no one here has ever read or heard it), or the only grandpa I ever knew - the adopted one, or Puck for that matter. Most of my current geographically closest world wasn't with me when I was raped, or when I dealt with it, not with me when coming home from work one night I found myself without a home to come to. They also weren't around for the best moments, becoming a blood aunt, Titania having kittens, my best friends' weddings, my licensure. We've never prayed or cast together, rarely even touched on our beliefs, let alone touched eachother in ritual.
I miss those connections. My friends, my family. My home in all their homes, and their homes in mine. I miss people knowing where the mugs are and getting their own tea. I miss random visits at all hours of the day and night cushioned only by the gifts of booze and cheesecake. Cause you know if you show up at my door, be you man, woman, flesh, or spirit; as long as you have booze or cheesecake (preferrably both) you are welcome within.
And it is my fault, I keep thinking the poets will find me again drawn as we always were to eachother likes moths burning apart drawn to eachothers' flames. The poets drown their dreams elsewhere now. Maybe I'm just afraid I'm drowning mine too.
