Give

 I understand big days, empty and long, too full of nothing to be filled. The desperation that brings fits of tears, but hardly ever, mostly, usually, crawling, seething, and internally, eternally, lonely. But lonely in a way that you’ll never understand. Lonely that pushes back hope, doesn’t return phone calls, never looks at the sky. A vivid imagination that stays locked inside without anything to play with makes up a world that suffices. A gray and dismal world, white snow swirling all around and stone buildings, with icy, wet stone steps no one will sit upon: A flag pole that laments in the wind, fitfully. Avoiding mirrors, but not mirrors, my own eyes, I can’t look into them. They’ll blame me: There’s no sun that’s not mocking, no wave that doesn’t seek to pull me under, no dog that doesn’t wish to tear at my throat.

 And they’re all there, in the dreams or the nightmares. I sit and wait to be pulled under, into them forever: The macabre one dimensional place where I am even less empowered searches always for a way to make itself more tactile. I am desperate to remind them that in this ocean the waves can come from several directions, but not the shore.

 On the shore there are predators wearing inappropriate swimwear and spittle grins and petting the heads of the rottweiler dogs who smack their black lips in anticipation.

 The wave will come from the left as you face the horizon but I can’t tell you that despite the fact that I am trying to. You can’t hear me with so much commotion, and everyone yelling their own advice. But I’m desperate to tell you, and I get the words out

but I’m not confident that you’ve heard; that when it comes it will be bigger than you think, it will knock you off your feet, it will cover your head, it will make your hair choke you, you’ll feel the sand brush your hand, the only way to tell what side is up,

and when it’s over, you’ll maybe not see the shore right away, you’ll be lost,

there will be others lost around you. I also want to tell you that I’ve already been through it, and we learn a little more each time we die.

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  1. #1 by Lincolnshire Dog Walker on March 5, 2010 - 4:27 am

    I just cant decide what kind of dog I love the most. Of course I lilke them all. Thank you for such a interesting website.

    • #2 by La La on March 5, 2010 - 1:45 pm

      ok yep. & thank you for that seemingly random comment

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