Not just home, but my parents' home, the place I grew and the place that prepared me for where I am now.
To hear trains now, in some distant, unknown place, only reminds me that this is not home.
This place I am, is not home.
This is not home.
When heard before..... I knew that most everyone I knew could hear those same whistles.
I realize now what comfort I found in this. a simple sound.
There is nothing familiar here.
There is no comfort.
There are few to be relied on.
I thought, maybe, by now, I might have settled in. Settled into this new life.
This new life I have chosen for myself.
This life of independence.
It's terrifying.
It was the most difficult thing I've done. Ever. You know this.
When all I thought I wanted was to have myself, only myself, with no direct relation to another,
But I have not yet learned to be singular and solitary.
I have not learned to be with myself.
I will, most assuredly.
And there will be distance soon.
I've replaced self-control with other things. Many other things.
I will regain it.
Control.
I am hardest on myself.
The most critical.
The most full of judgement.
This will not change.
Tonight I am drawing for the first time in months. Man, many months.
The feeling is indescribable.
There is solace in this simple act of creating.
If there is anything I'm sure of now, that I wasn't before...
It is that the only comfort I know comes from creating.
Not words.
Not you.
Not home.
Not photos of loved ones and former lovers.
Though I have loved.
But from creating, making constructing, inventing...... being the cause of something's existence.
I love you.
You know it.
I'm saying it anyway.
You are the ones I live for,
Though I don't tell you often.
You are my touchstones- though I claim to have none.
I think you're more wonderful than I could ever express.
Dearly,
I love you.
