into the grey

January 31, 2011 Candace Morris 5 Comments

There is a great deal of bated breath around my loved ones these days.  The momentum of news, the fear of the good, the disappointment of the bad, the indecision of the universe.

one gray monday


Journal Entry 
30 January 2011


And in the reception room of existence
Deciding to hope against the annoyance of sitting still
Suffocating under the potential of our name being next.
Rushing to the prognosis.  It will be, as it always is...
YOU.WILL.BE.FINE.




Human's are resilient little fuckers, but who do they think they are...coming and going as they please?

We were made with ambitions, with dreams, with the expectation that life will bring forth new life.  We want so badly.  Why do I so badly want to possess these dreams?  Why can't they be like art...beauty for beauty's sake, unspoiled with human stain?  Is it therefore wise to suspend our desires?  Or is that cynical?  Do we decide not to hope either way because we are emotionally terrified or is it because we are emotionally lazy?  I advise my dearest ones to suspend their feelings, but I think that's because I am petrified of picking up the pieces of their disappointment...that I will feel responsible for their pain.  They need to feel it.  I need to let them.

There is some sort of urgent dread birthing in my being.

I am looking for answers.
Well, one answer, really.

It's no longer IF I want  ___.
But WHY I want ___.

And this is an answer I must come to before proceeding.

While I seek this, life still happens.  Birth, death.  Requests, rejections.  
My family of friends and kin are pursuing their lives with bated breath.
They move to a new home.
They take their first steps.
They begin a family.
They apply to their future.

There is loss in the hope.
The risk is great.
The reward, better.

I promise, Red.
I promise.


a curious way to deal with death
And loss is such a curious way to describe death.
It's not a pair of keys, for fuck's sake.
We cannot throw back the cushions
or tear apart the back seat.
We can do nothing.





For now, I enter a grey cloud.
The pain is this big cozy cowl my mom made me.
And I will feel it.


I am not scared.
But I shake like hell in my boots.






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