Waiting on strings

Loss burns like a piece of red charcoal in my belly. An ember that would, were it outside me, provide light. But buried so, it doesn’t glow but gives me sleepless nights. Long aching nights of dreams cluttered with unfulfilled wishes,  confusing complicated terms of agreement, partners who aren’t partners, loves I don’t love, faces I don’t know. A stranger’s house and stranger sensations when some stranger across a strange room says, “You’re home.”

Home was a shrine and a gas lit fire. Home was a tent pitched on wooden pallets. Home was a room full of clutter. Home was mottled memories in sleepless nights that I could not place. Home was a treasure chest that did not exist. Home was spirits, angels, demons, ghosts (Call them what you will.). Home was your bed, safe and warm.

I feel restless. Trampled. Hopeless. Homeless.
Maybe someone took a knife in the night and cut my heart out. My soul, spirit, ghost out. Maybe we were right and I was the one who was never whole. Never sanded down or finished. Not weatherproofed or lie-proofed, or quick witted enough to know the difference.

Life is long and laborious once all your definitions have sad rings to them. Once all your explanations have loss attached to them. Once every dream is an out-dated stained glass window waiting for the next religion to come in and smash it to pieces. Once trust has all run out.

I carried in a secret case a thing I called faith. It was blind, untested trust. I carried it around everywhere I went only to empty it out. I may have drained it quicker than I thought. Now this case collects dust and ghosts of the past. Shards of reality as constant reminders of places and faces I’ve loved, known, trusted strong and fast. If I reach in now, they get stuck in my fingers, drawing blood.

But if life is pain and suffering brings realization, I don’t think it led me wrong.
I am only looking for what to dust myself clean with and what to refill faith with.
I have a feeling, a hunch, a trepidation in a sense, that reality will show me.

The wheel always turns.

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