mindful mondays, twenty-three

morning; a few days ago.

the boy turns twenty-four today. messages are rolling onto his profile pages, into his texts and messages. some people call me, because they don’t know his number, but know mine. they know us. the future unrolls before us with such uncertainty, neither one of us wants to talk about it. it’s exhilarating. terrifying. and all those other big words. I sent a broken message in french to his mother last night, hoping she would receive it just in time. son numéro de téléphone est différent. no response. I keep hoping. I am not even sure why it’s so important to me. I guess the barrier between them, the distance, it’s something I never had to experience and it pains me that he does. yet I don’t care that much. maybe I am just trying to gain some points.

we carry on with our lives as if nothing has happened. it frustrates me, because I am ready for a change. it’s all I can think about. messages are sent out into the air, back and forth, meaningless words filled with hope and disappointment. I am not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep up with it, before we run out of things to say. before we run out of apologies, explanations and weak dismissals of what ifs. they make it hard to focus on daily tasks. house of cards fueled my obsession with politics and dc; I am back on the track. the rainy weather outside makes for the perfect conditions for reading and snuggling up.

my cluster headache is back and I can’t write anything else anymore.