It is late, my laptop says 1:50 am, but that is slightly misrepresented as I am in BC and there is an extra hour to content with. Still, the night has long since entered my room, and I can feel the weight of a world sleeping, like a heavy blanket dampening the air. A second wind comes upon me, and I am restless in my wanderlust desires. In my need to connect, to find meaningful discourse within the forums of my mind. I write as though I am discovering language again, after months of parched expectancy. Tonight, there is a lushness to my fingers as they break through the rusted stagnancy that has held me captive in the months since my separation.
Divorce and all its trappings and vestments is fundamentally exhausting. Certainly not the cliched fodder for creative discovery that is promised by disillusioned artists everywhere. Slowly I am coming back from the serrated edge of constant tears and finding my way into beauty again. Into the immediacy of words pressing against the soft clay of my mind. It is as though I have come home after being displaced for far too long.
I have bought a house. It's small, it needs work, but it is mine. I take possession of it this week, a fact that feels so surreal, I can barely hold it as a consistent thought. I sat in car after receiving the call that my offer was accepted and wept. Tears of pure gratitude for a world that still held space for me.
For now though, I sit in the dark with my earphones, not creating, but refueling through the notes of others, through the soft harmonies insular and perfect in my headphones. There will be time to write when I settle again in my new house. Time again when my heart is patched enough to make sense of it all. For now I listen to the dark and marvel at the small wonders of the world.