Heart Language.

There's something about running,
Running in the dark, with the wind,
In the cold.
When your ears burn and your breath falls short,
When you can't feel your legs,
You only know they hit the ground.
It cleanses.
You want to fall to you knees,
Or cry, or scream as loud as you can,
And it is good.
It is good because you are so close to feeling,
So close to your thundering blood,
You know that you're alive,
And the pain is real.
For once, the grief matches the blood,
And your cries hold every passion,
And you are real. You exist.


Finally, after eleven years, I can feel my pain.
I can hear the grief echo inside me, hollow and wanting,
but finally, finally, it is honest.
For the first time I can be in pain,
And it's okay.
Perhaps because the hole is inside my very heart,
So much more real than missing family or friends,
So much more dire than leaving home.
I can see her, and hear her,
And know her words are true.
And I grieve for my own incredible shortcomings,
And I grieve for the hole inside my heart,
And I grieve for her pain.

But how terrible, how unwise!
I choose to grieve in a place that is not my own,
Where I am vulnerable and not yet known,
What a poor place to have a raw heart.
What a poor place to learn to start.