slipping thru folds of crossed arms disguised as hugs...

Today is my mother's birthday. Unlike most, I have never made a homemade card or gift, bought a cheap bottle of perfume, burnt a birthday breakfast or even had the opportunity to scrap penny change together in an attempt to purchase her a birthday cake. My mother chose to burn her pages and allow her pen to dry long before she recognized the prose which glistened the rouge of her lips, or the green of life which hid slightly behind her halzed colored almond shaped eyes. She, like me, had an unusual attachment, not to life, but people. Love was and is our downfall, and a broken heart means just that, broken. So that fateful August, when her heart shattered like an icicle falling from an abandoned building, so did her soul and ultimately her life. Now one would ask, why did I pick an abandoned building? I did so, because there was no one was there to see or hear her fall, and no one was there to help her pick up the pieces. She didn't know that a broken heart was the natural evolution of things, it allows us to love deeper, so that we may have a stronger appreciation of emotions and the epitome of the most elusive emotion of them all, "unconditional love". It's similar to an icicle falling, melting, evaporating and becoming a part of the essence of whence it came. We are born from love, out of love. But we could never see the big picture.
We're was caught in the details. Clinging to words and behaviors to make decisions. Picking lovers and friends as closely as you'd pick roses with thorns. Always expecting a hint of blood, yet, looking for the perfect one. Picking lovers and friends as closely as the last words one would say to their beloved on their death bed. Never knowing what impact it may have, but wanting it to be something they can hold onto forever.
She and I know there is no such thing as forever. But we search for it in others. We know that people come into our lives for reasons and seasons. I have met winter, summer, spring and fall in different faces, smiles and behaviors. And I have chosen to not get involved, to stay just on the outside of things as not to totally experience it. I know what seasons mean, temporary, ever evolving, ever changing. Sometimes seasons merge, and when they do it causes confusion, pain. Occassionally they stay a little too long, and when they do, the same confusion and pain are ever present. I fear the grave consequences as I am she, and she is me. I have loved, but never allowed myself to love along the brink of uncertainty. I love just outside the four seasons. They call it Indian summer. It has dual meaning. It's that sunny, warm weather, just before the bitter cold arrives. Or something that blooms late, unexpected, when it is no longer interesting or revelant. Those have been my past love relationships.
So today, I was awakened with the loneliness of child seeking the warmth of a womb that has since grown cold and barren. Today is a reminder that I am without roots. And since I no longer have my grand, she, the soil which I once used as camouflage, no longer exists, so I feel alone and exposed. Today, I am reminded why people who are unavailable and noncommittal are attracted to my aloofness and seething simple air of arrogance. We are both lonely warriors, who seemingly understand the true meaning and duality of Indian Summers.....
Mom, it's been thirty-three years. And while I look for an excuse not to love or write, almost daily, I know that I must piece together the chapters that we were never afforded.
I love you for your legacy and the story that has yet to unfold. continue to whisper in the breeze, I am always listening....