All I can hope

They tell you to let things go.

But I know I'll clutch the memories and the feelings close to my gut and I'll take a moment every now and then to squeeze my eyelashes together in misery and dismay. And I'll hope that my wrongs were right and that everything will be how we planned it. The people, the places, the names and the plans.

When you're too scared to win or to lose all you can do is try to damage as little of the furniture as possible whilst falling around in the dark. Brush your fingers lightly over familiar shapes and favourite possessions in the pitch blackness of your own lack of conclusion, strong enough to recognise the form, gentle enough to not break it. There are some casualties... perhaps when blinded by rushing blood this is inevitable. If I could just find the sodding light switch, I could see what I broke and try to fix it, for goodness sake.

But my blunted fingernails scrabble hopelessly against barren walls, cold against my fingertips, with no relief of comprehendible light. The only light I can find is when my eyes are closed and I forget, just for a second, who I am and what I don't know. The peace I created for myself is hollow and deadened, more like the roots of a tree suffocated by ivy than the usual notions of light and contentment. It's a surrender, a white flag, not a victory. It's a relief, a breaking point, but pitiful all the same.

We stride on. Smile carefully designed, conviction that can't really even convict itself because the damned floodgates are as broken as everything else.

When I finally find myself safely home, I'm going to get my old bear out of the attic. I think at this point, we might need each other more than ever.