I am here among this myriad of Chaos moving all around me, I am inside of it.
I am here with words on the tips of my fingers, here with things to say coursing through my veins like blood. Only thicker.
These words are wet cement in an otherwise glorious World.
I am here with sounds balancing on my lips, where the softest flesh meets the smoothest part of me, only I am silenced by the blur of Change.
I am here, being a woman doing her woman things, making lunches and checking homework and asking how their day went. I am here putting food on plates and swallowing cold hard water and smoking too many cigarettes.
She never smoked a cigarette in her whole Life.
I am here wishing for the World to stop being so cruel. I am here wishing to take the walls out of my mind and off of my heart and stand them up outside of my house, impenetrable.
I mean, is this really happening?
I am here stopping fights and starting fights and singing that song that comes on the radio. I am here typing and reading emails and working and sleeping but mostly not sleeping.
This sleep, I wonder, do you stop yearning for it when you hear your time on Earth is limited? Do you want to stay awake and soak up your Life with burning,swollen eyes and coffee stained teeth?
I am here laughing and remembering or crying because I do not want to forget.
Each moment sends me an electric memory. Each memory burns my heart as it aches for what she might miss. Or what he may miss.
I am here checking on the sounds they make when they breath, searching for the familiar cadence of the breaths of my children to soothe me momentarily.
Until I ache again, a churning, mind numbing sort of ache, for all that is about to Change for her. For him. For them. For Us.
I am here marveling at how the days can be so short and how time drips an unsteady beat most often when you need it to stop.
When we were children, if Things got scary, if things got loud, if the Chaos become blinding, I would grab his sticky, clammy hand and pull him into my bedroom. He would smile with his bright, wide, oceanic eyes, drinking up the excitement that was building as searched blindly with my hand under the dresser for the splintered wooden handles of two paintbrushes.
They belonged to my father, but he had so many tools he never noticed anyway. I kept them under my dresser for moments like these, these confusing and loud and unsettling moments when we didn't know whether to run or hide or be mad or angry or sad. When we wished we could fix It, but knew that we couldn't.
We painted instead.
With vivid colors imagined out of plain water or sometimes nothing at all, my little brother and I painted murals and cities and towns and third dimensions on my bedroom walls, we forgot the Chaos on the other side of the door and lived inside of our wild child imagination for a while.
Oh, how I ache to hold that wooden handle tightly in my hands, to give him his, to paint these walls a better color. To make it Different.
My colors have all disappeared, and I cannot erase the color of this Fear.
All around me, a mosaic of Change keeps moving, I push down into the ground until my legs hurt.
I need to stay standing.
I need to stay upright.
I need to stay unmovable.
I need to be a constant in this unconstantness.
I need to and I will.
I need to and I will because I want to or because I always have or because I always do.
It is expected that I will be strong.
It is expected that after the fast blur I will be here, that the colors of confusion will drip off of me and I will move on.
I am here.
I am here and I will.~
*paintbrush image: stock photo courtesy of HaikuDeck. Image design by Amommaly 2012
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