your muse's musings

I’m so glad I left

All the talk of peace in yoga today, along with abundance, happiness

I understand abundance and the lack thereof; happiness and its absence

But I may be far too chaotic for peace

Chaos is the antithesis of peace, is not?

Whenever I look for peace, the self doubt demons descend and the craving for chaos wells from inside of me

They say that those who come from chaos are sometimes bored by peace, that peace is foreign and uncomfortable

Just walking the dogs at sunset in a country neighborhood

/

Your music, your clothes

Your side of the bed

It may have been insane to cohabitate so immediately but I don’t think I’d have it any other way

You’re here even when you’re not here and my very posture reflects your presence

And looking for something in a space and in a person and even a place that couldn’t hold it, couldn’t hold me

Being here now it’s like I’ve finally warmed up, warmed from my core, from my bones

Found you, and how you can hold me

There’s sunsets every night

thinking of the week ahead

The job I’m actually sort of enjoying mostly

All the cooking and healthy eating I’ve been doing

Opportunities for yoga class and sunshine drives and walks with Saint and Sasha in the evenings

Picking out sexy professional outfits

A dinner date with some friends

It was sort of like I was playing a part, a role, in other people’s lives. Men’s lives. Like I would sample their lifestyle, experience the way they lived, the things they did, the wineries, the trips, the hotels, the houseboat. The restaurants, the never having to worry about finances aside from where to invest further or what have you.

And some of it was beautiful and fascinating and educational but none of it was mine.

I wasn’t building my own life, I wasn’t creating. I wasn’t experiencing my own path, and I wasn’t in love with the person I was living with, the person at home who was essentially part of my pseudo life.

I’m afraid of upsetting you, of disappointing you, of bringing darkness into your life.

I’m afraid of my own actions fucking up something I hold so dear, so sacred.

But am I afraid of you?

Maybe a little — afraid of your intensity, extremity, afraid of your volatility and the possibility that you could flip a switch and turn your back on me.

But as quickly as you’re harsh with me occasionally — you recant nearly as fast. A coffee shop “I’m sorry. I’m growing. I’m learning,” after I’ve left your boots out in the snow all night. And they’re soaked. And you’ve no other street shoes and we’re five hours from home.

The back-talk in my head: but you’ve left them out too; you watched me strut out onto the patio in your shirt and boots alone over my swimsuit, remarked that that was “the look;” - and you sent me inside after we soaked in the hot tub with your friends, after I lingered to crawl privately onto your lap after they’d gone in, to kiss you in secret - before you sent me inside; to dry and be warm, as you close up the jacuzzi…you could’ve grabbed them too.

Though I’d never dismiss my own accountability. I apologize sincerely, then playfully inquire whether the way I woke you up shouldn’t neutralize my wrongdoing?

The way I woke you up — and as I was waking you, you said, “Promise me you’ll never stop doing this for the rest of our lives.”