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November 11, 2003

wood grain, lamp light

I have never, ever felt so wired in my life.

I pace these floors, these worn, gorgeous hardwood floors. I stare at the original boards, the pieces of repair boards inserted every now and then as over the years this house has settled. In the right lamp glow, the floors gleam warmly - the varnish is yellow and amber, the cracks between blackened and smooth with age.

The streetlamps outside the window are that weird flat orange, urban efficiency and eternal daylight for the city. Light seems so important to me now. I can't sleep without the lights on now, I am so ... excited? scared?
 
 

numb?

This is ridiculous. My body seems to crave warmth and the feel of you by my side more than ever. I feel empty, my chest aching with memories and with love, most of all. How strange, to miss someone my logical mind tells me I've never met, much less gave birth to. This body, my hips, these arms, my voice, soothing him in the night. I can't even soothe myself, knowing we lost him somehow. Lost track of ourselves.

That's got to be what it is, right? We've lost the track? We've somehow stepped outside of ourselves, like bones out of skin, context replaced by glamorie.

The lack of sleep no longer seems to bother me - at least, not in a way that drags me down. The sense of urgency, the quickening in my heartbeat when I look at that dear photograph - I see your intelligence there, in his eyes. He is a reflection of us at the time we lost him.

... I just spent another ten minutes pacing from one end of the house to the other. I could hear the floor creak gently, with character, and it makes me feel slightly sick to realize that this home was never ours to begin with. That we've placed ourselves here, pretending to be a settled happy couple, things gathering dust that have just been placed there, what, only yesterday, it seems?
When did we get here? When did we leave there? Exactly?

These questions drop like maddening rain into my head and my songwriting. The exhiliration over Jesse - I feel that perhaps I should tame it, but I don't want to. I want to keep spinning out this joy and relief and fear until it coalesces, and we're transported back to Kansas, back even further until it's all color again, and we're happy and three and life is sweet.

My fear is overlaid with a latticework of determination. I feel as though I can carry the world, as long as I get to see my boy again. As long as I get to weave my fingers into yours and look out on a world that makes sense again. Questions falling, new pieces and old floorboards.

I was scared, I am still scared, I will find the path.
You've done such an amazing job of putting the pieces together. I know it's been so hard for you to deal with my nightmares and my erratic emotions lately. Keeping involved in your job is probably the best thing for you - we now know why I've been unearthing all this strange detritus - this mystery has got to be the reason, the impetus, the keystone.

These ley lines must lead to him. The earth is fading back from summer, even fading back from autumn, but the trail is not cold.
I will be very happy to be in your arms again. If you call me when you wake, let me tell you about the e-mail we got today from that address I set up. Someone's got information we can use. I think we need to meet in person and get this all straightened out. Our life is out there somewhere, and while I think this one's OK, I don't think I will ever feel complete until Jesse's back with us again. That responsibility is too, too precious.

Posted by dina at November 11, 2003 10:53 AM