This is this time of the day when you realize that you have lived another good day. A series of play dates. A diaper change. A meal. Adequate awareness to churn a few thoughts in your mouth. Some to swallow, some to spit out, and a few to savior and save for later. All day words crowd your soul, your brain, your fingertips waiting to be freed. Entire paragraphs, passages hover in and out of car windows. Traffic trudges by. Old woman begs with dirty child, yours sits in the back in a car seat. The words justice and equality are flimsy at best. The car rolls passed another red. Now green. Another paragraph will soon begin. Another day ends.
image by Audrey Michael
In the blank night, you unload thoughts, releasing each like errant butterflies, embarrassed by so many casual clichés, but there is no need for control during episodes like these. Another good day, in a good week, a good month. Is this how meaningful lives are built? You think back a year, five, ten, twenty; you are six again and pleased with the future laid out in front of you.
Loneliness, isolation, lonesomeness, seclusion, shelter a thesaurus full of possibilities. No longer afraid of this gentle calm. Surrounded by love and family. Friendships and social networks. A tiny voice echoing in the darkness. Content. No matter how connected, you are best alone. In the end, before she turns out the lights you will be all that you will hear. What will you say ? When no one will be listening?
I am writing my final soliloquy one day at a time…