|From my art journal, May 18, 2016 (gesso, gouache paints, pan pastel, graphite pencil)|
Sometimes grief feels invincible, as if the body you have known all these years is no longer yours. It has been let out, given over, occupied. And the best you can do is surrender. And after so many attempts at standing, this sitting down feels right.
All of this mean something--something I don't know.
In the late night when the whole world holds its breath and the quiet that surrounds is a sleepy lullaby no day could sing, I whisper, Take from the day what you can. Leave what you cannot bare to carry.
I whisper so I might remember these words tomorrow.