while you were gone

While you were gone I buried my nose in the lilac bushes and thought of our first home together. Do you remember it? The little cabin with the big windows and sloping floors, with the unfinished spare bedroom and the unruly lilac bush in the backyard? It wasn’t much but it was where we pledged our lives to each other. 

While you were gone I pierced my nose and made an offer on a house; our dog howled and I did at least thirteen crossword puzzles, so it’s safe to say both of us are lost without you. I’d never gone so long without talking to you. It felt like part of myself was missing, cliche as it sounds. Sometimes I scare myself on purpose, imagine things like what if everyone I loved disappeared, letting myself indulge in the tragedy before crashing back to reality—a twisted gratitude practice. There was a time last summer when I was convinced that all my problems would be solved if I were free and unencumbered. I realize now how wrong I was.

The sad and the scary loom large in the corners of my soul. I’ve thought before, I cannot be happy until those things go away. But that would be accepting defeat. Look, the peonies are unfurling and my love has returned! Move over, calamity—there is plenty room in this life for joy, too.