Of Grief and Gratitude

There are some things that will never be, and some times these things that will never be are the very things you want most. Some are possible, but some, no matter how fervently and frequently you dream of them, will simply never be. And this pains you. And the thought of them is at once sweet and tormenting. Daydreams warm your core, but the harsh reality of their impossibility paralyzes you with terror and immense sorrow. This is human. This is as human as it gets. To be in pain and to have no apparent solution is human. Everyone has felt this. Many feel it now. In this present moment there are many who weep beneath their skin, their insides flooded with tears. For many, for now, this is reality. This is life.

            There also are those things which you long for, dream of, yearn for, and, maybe quickly, or maybe after years, receive. And there are those who feel this now, who live this now. There are some who have a smile they can’t tear from their glowing faces. There are parents with a fresh life glistening in their arms, alight under the sterile illumination of a delivery room. Tonight, there are those who lingered in the warm space of their first kiss, who spent hours basking in the overwhelmingly invigorating presence of their closest companion.  There are those who today, after pleas of desperation and prayers thought unheard, received the news they’ve been begging for.

            Today I stand with a foot in both realms. There are things my heart and mind desire with raging intensity which I will never obtain or experience. Yet also, there are things I have and things I have experienced which I do not deserve, and for which I am immensely, eternally, thankful. And this is where I dwell. This space where there is both grief and gratitude, pain and pleasure, a canvas on which a war is waged between black and white paints. This is where I dwell.

Class, That Thing We Have Together

Today you walked in, back in

And my breath caught in my throat

A silent “Oh shit” rang through the classroom

I looked, you didn’t

You walked across, sat far away

I’m sorry you feel strange

Class starts, continues

I still look, you still don’t

Papers rustle, bags are packed
It's over

I near the door, touch the handle

Our eyes meet, finally, after years

And wordlessly we leave

Separate in the same bubble