The Stars

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you. 

[Walt Whitman, To a Stranger]

Here it comes.  That wave.  My familiar friend.  

I miss you.  It’s exhausting. I try to experience it, for once to allow it to permeate my thoughts.  The pain washes over me.  I can feel my mind searching for an out.  I start tapping away on the keyboard to write, to distract from the emotions drowning me, the pain that causes my throat to close up.    

What do I do with all my memories? Memories of you.  You and me.  Where do they go?  What were they for if you aren’t here anymore?  Why were you with me if you can’t be now?  Why am I here if you aren’t with me?  What purpose do I have without you?  Oh, this pain is stifling.  Like the heat wave outside. It’s unrelenting too; despite the sun setting and moon rising, the pain, just like the heat, remains.

I listen to the lyrics of a song and they save me; they distract and inspire me, and I retreat to my writing. To my own private world.  My cocoon that cushions the pain as the loss of you infiltrates my thoughts.  It’s easier to write about the pain than to experience it.  It becomes a concept rather than a reality.  It is a degree separated.  It is manageable that way.

If it were reversed, how would you cope?  If I had gone and you were here, how would you deal with the loss?  You are me and we know each other’s thoughts so you would be suffering as I am.  Would you retreat into your art?  Would you turn to your ways of processing and expressing your thoughts?  Painting, meditating, chanting and writing.  

I was lying out the other evening, stargazing.  In Ibiza, when I lie outside at night and look up at the stars, I can actually see the stars.  Unlike in London, where light pollution impedes the view, there is contrast in the night sky.  The sky is dark and the stars shine more brightly.  That is how I see life now; grief takes away the light pollution so that, even if the night sky is darker, at least the stars shine more brightly. I guess there are some gifts that grief gives me.  It adds intensity to experiences that, for me at least, wasn’t there before.  The highs are higher and the lows, well, you can imagine. But there is contrast, which means it isn’t all darkness so I guess I’m #winning.

I look up at the stars and I wonder if you are there, nestled amongst them, playing hopscotch through the constellations.  If it’s a case of waiting until we are reunited, I can take that.  I have always had an abundance of patience so I have this in the bag.  The thought comforts me.  

Until the stars, my love.