do you think he was the worst? asked my therapist this week.
yes, i said.
worse than [the guy who struck you]? she said.
yes, i said.
well, she said. he at least really took you in. this one never did.
later, my eldest goddaughter said the same thing.
i agreed both times. in the snow tonight, i walked to meet this grown woman whom i knew as a child. i was wearing a fur hat and winter white–lace, wool, pearls. Plus very red lipstick. i looked: beautiful. i knew i’d meet someone at the fancy hotel bar where we were convening and i did. it was surprisingly easy and then i realized why. i wasn’t wriggling out of the Legend’s grasp. he had never claimed me.
but he had ignited me. and thus i was beautiful again.
in the snow, in the light of the darkness, i embraced this new other. she smelled of smoke and snow (does snow have a smell? tonight it does) and her shoulders were too narrow. it made me miss my last person, my personal Legend. but this new person also smelled of home and hope–sarcasm and cinnamon–and so i leaned into her embrace.
soon i will really move on. Venus goes direct tomorrow.
do you think he was the worst? asked my therapist this week.
do you think he was the worst? asked my therapist this week.
in the snow, in the light of the darkness, i embraced this new other. she smelled of smoke and snow (does snow have a smell? tonight it does) and her shoulders were too narrow. it made me miss my last person, my personal Legend. but this new person also smelled of home and hope–sarcasm and cinnamon–and so i leaned into her embrace.