remember to make and create just for yourself, not for the audience. remember to take time in the day to be with yourself, with no one else, and impress yourself! you can do hard things that merit no reward. the reward is the process itself. colour, doodle, sing, move, touch, see, imagine. stare at fire, for hours. draw something vulnerable, don't release it. treasure that you've done it, not that others have witnessed it.

three writings instead of drawing because drawing this feeling is scary

revealing the truth

I'm afraid of sharing my experience
my vulnerable, truest experience

for fear that you might think it 

too much

because

you're supposed to be free

unencumbered by another

you're supposed to be calling the shots

having fun on your own terms

I'm afraid of sharing my experience

my intense, larger-than-life loving experience

for fear that you might think it

too real

because

you're supposed to love everyone

freedom to roam, to play, to engage

you're supposed to commit to none

not commit to just one, certainly not

this one

--

but how?

and if I say I love you

and I want you to be here

then you might say "yes, I love

but to love you here limits me."

so what do I do

if I do not want to limit you

but I do want you, here?

how do I live without you

but with you here, inside?

how do I love you out there,

while you love everyone

and everything, like you loved here?

this love you love is what I love to love

and if you didn't love like this

there'd be no love like it

for me to fall in love with.

--

together, then alone

you came here and you filled the space, you filled it with facts, with observation, laughter and fun, with questions and answers and music, entranced me with your ease, your steadiness, your swagger from one place to the other; from the couch to the table, from the table to the kitchen counter. you made toast (extra butter), you danced in the middle of the space, made the high ceiling seem low (and to think your brothers are taller), turning on the bright lights for a daytime glow. you taught me the ceremony of tea and the ceremony of much more than tea, you saw me and questioned me - in a good way, in a way where I could see myself - and you understood or you didn't, which all made me feel myself the way I want to be felt. you brought that big energy, that secure vibe, that safety, all the while I doubted your gaze was for me. everything you touched now holds your glow, an electric current, and I touch it without you here and receive a jolt of electricity, almost but not quite as electric as I did when I touched your arm, your cheek, your foot, your collarbone. what am I to do with this absence, this quality you've left behind, the ghost of you? how do I continue to hold it inside, bring it with me everywhere I go and keep you alive instead of shoot you dead, because it might be easier to pretend you didn't exist than exist and aren't present? you shared yourself with me, here, in this house, for a window of time ... and now I sit, alone, here, in this house, looking through the window at the apple tree, visioning the matching orange sweater, the long curls that made you look child-like as you plucked and juggled. I sigh, in disbelief, that you were here at all, but in belief of everything that's right in the world: true pleasure, true excitement, true heart pounding in my chest for the love of who you are and the gratitude to have had you here at all.