loose ends

The days pass in variations of the same theme and so I rely on the natural world to delineate the passage of time. 

One morning I wake up and the leaves are gone, dawn shooting through the glass in a beam of colorless light. In terms of external parameters I don’t have much to show but in my inner world there are bulldozers and steamrollers. For some weeks now I’ve been regularly going to therapy—has my jumbled mind made it obvious? Every Tuesday at eleven I tremble in trepidation; every Tuesday at noon I am light and expansive. Diving inward and extrapolating is hard work, but my burdens aren’t as heavy and the darkness is cracked open by small rays of light. The truth is, I’d like to condense the experiences of my life into a tidy arc, then package them up with a bow and leave them all behind me. Ambiguity gives me a headache. I like firm endings and swift conclusions, or at least the ability to skip to the end for confirmation of a happy ending. But life’s not like the movies, is it?

Outside the wind is frantic and pulsing, sweeping away all evidence of life. I’m learning to create my own closure too.