Lately I’ve been giving my mind a break from overthinking & instead have been enjoying a hearty diet of heart-full & art-full writing prompts that go from inspiration to action. Filling blank pages with ink, words, & stories.
Some Muses arrive like freight trains on tracks made of optimism & smash through time & space. Others gently creep along the shores of my longing. The sand of time gently tugging underfoot while I stand in a tide I begged the moon for this time last year.
This week I’ve been thinking about spaces.
Wide-open ones.
Confined ones.
Ones we pour ourselves into.
For this week’s writing, I wondered what the walls in my little studio apartment would say to me after half a spin around the sun of living safely between the four of them.
Here’s what I think they’d have to say.
Well, at least in the first instance.
Here’s to writing without bounds.
And to the walls that create bounds of safety as we start over, unpack, dream, break, heal.
WORDS WITH WALLS
We love having you here. No, really, we do. Even in the dark of midnights & 4AMs you light up the space between us with your breath. With energy that we’ve been longing for. We stand like sandpapered sentries covered in off-pearl peeling paint. We know you came here ready to crumble. Like day-old-apple pie. Sweet & buttery, fallen to the floor in crumbs. Sometimes you look beyond us. And sometimes you look at us like we’re the most magical things you’ve ever seen built up. Here to keep the world out. It’s like we’re around you to protect you. The good news is that we feel protective of you. We always have.
You should know a few things.
Things like:
We love it when you dance. Silly & free & without fear of judgement. All dressed up before a Friday night on the town (we know you’re not ready yet, but you’re trying to conjure good times) or in your pajamas on a slightly dusty Saturday morning. We love it when you laugh out loud - with others or on your own. You laugh more & more the longer you’re here. You cry a lot, too. More than we remember. Life’s been heavy, hasn’t it? We’re here to give you the oxygen you need. Steady like water through fingers. When you’re exhausted & fall asleep on the couch without preamble or blankets - we try to keep the sounds of howling coyotes out.
We love 2AM. That hour when the night seems darkest. But, you’re up & wide awake. When you go to the fridge for a snack. You do this every night. Sometimes you reach for a piece of fruit, other times a tortilla, on Thursdays - a cookie. Whatever you reach for, we love seeing you hungry. We remember a time when you couldn’t eat. Wouldn’t stomach the idea of nourishment. Nothing satiated. Nothing seemed filling - other than the times when she’d call. Then you’d forget your growling stomach. You’d talk for four hours about nothing, everything, dreams. Regret.
We watch you closely. But, not in a weird way. Your routines & quirks & the ways that you move through a space when you’re alone feel sacred to us. We’re here not only hold space for you, but to keep your secrets for you. You share things with us that the rest of the world will never know. We know you better than you know yourself. That’s not just a throw-away line. We talk to each other when you lace up your running shoes & head out into the world each day. We say prayers that you run the dust in your lungs out. We hope you run back to yourself.
We love it when you sleep. Like, really deeply sleep. The sleep of someone healing, mending, growing out of their own skin. You’re like a lizard. Seeking the warmth of a sunnier season. Losing your tail if someone pulls on it too tightly. Scampering, hiding in small spaces. Growing, growing, growing out of the scales that once weighed you down. How quiet the space between us becomes when you snooze. We can hear a pin drop just before you fall asleep. But the only thing that falls when it’s only us are tears onto your pillow. Do you know you cry in your sleep sometimes? Quietly. We love that kind of quiet. We love the salt of those tears. They feel like peace & hope. That kind of quiet reminds us that you feel safe with us.
We wish we could hold you when you cry. You should know that. More than anything, we wish we had arms to envelop you with. Strong, gentle, warm like your Grandmother’s were. If we could yodel like her & tell you stories while we rub your forehead, we’d do that too. You deserve to be held when you’re sad or searching or celebrating. You’re not held enough - but you sure do a lot of holding for other people. Maybe, somehow, you’re here to learn how to hold yourself?
We love how healthy you are. How you roll out your yoga mat like a red carpet welcoming your body to a VIP premier. You stretch to stay limber & to feel strong. You use the weight of your body in perfect partnership with gravity to build muscle. To be able to hold the weight of the world for others. To set it down without putting your back out. Bringing your heart back to baseline. Your body is a temple made of protein & coffee & $5 sushi specials on Friday nights. We know where you stash your protein bars & that you prefer almond milk in your Sunday cuppa. We also know where we hide your cigarettes. Hey now! We’re not judging! We know that you’ve tried to quit more than a dozen times in the past month alone. Don’t worry, we’d smoke if we’d had our hearts broken as wide open as yours has been.
We see you helping your friends when they’re having bad days. You carry their hardships like other people carry heavy suitcases. The old school kind. No wheels. Soft sides. Made of leather & cardboard with stickers on the sides from cities overseas that you’ve visited. Heavy like a soft anvil. The baggage you’re carrying isn’t usually yours & it’s full of memories & hopes that belong to others. Yet, you never tire of lifting, hauling, shifting, & schlepping. Sometimes, when you grant yourself the grace of setting other people’s expectations down we watch you pick up the unwieldy wavering suitcase of your own life & love to see your face when you realize it’s lighter than you thought it’d be.
Sometimes we wonder why you don’t drink alone? You have two bottles of amazing bourbon within reach that you rarely touch. We love watching you light up as you grab a cold beer from the fridge, opening it with a satisfying piercing of an aluminum can. And, when you clink bottles with your best friends - there’s something special about the way your eyes dance when you say “Cheers!” In unison with people whose hearts beat in time with yours. Camaraderie within these walls is infinite, other worldly, soft, unbreakable. Unlike a promise.
There’s something about the way you go about your mornings. Routines are only routine if they stick, & yours seem to. Your day unfolds like chaos & clockwork all at once. We can’t help wonder how something as reliable as a clock can co-exist perfectly with the wild nature of passing time. But that’s you. A myriad of opposing forces that take no force to fit together. You’re a puzzle. A Sunday Star Times cryptic crossword. You keep us guessing. Just like the world must keep you guessing, too.
We love the love you’ve put into the spaces we surround & how you hang photos & lyrics in black & white on our walls. Everything framed, straight lines enhancing our lines & giving us texture that feels like art. Every word you place upon us & every image is a meaningful movement, memory, or measure of a big life, lived outside of these walls. You address us & dress us with respect, art, mana, music, & pizzazz.
We wonder how much longer you’ll be with us. How much longer you’ll stay safe inside our four walls? The room was so empty before you came. But now there’s music, sunlight, coffee on Sundays, lovemaking, heartbreaking, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches twice a week. We loved watching Hook with you last Thursday. You’ve watched it 7 times since coming home. Did you choose that on a whim, or had you been planning on watching again it for a while? There’s so much left we want to experience with you. And, we know you won’t stay here forever, but we sure wish you would.
When you go, please know that we’ve enjoyed holding you here. Your secrets are safe with us. If we could’ve we’d’ve held you tighter every time you cried & sang along to every song you strummed on the guitar we would’ve. We’d’ve danced with you to Macklemore on New Year’s Day. We would’ve raged with you to G FLIP an hour later. We’d’ve told you you’re gonna be okay. Because look at you, you are!
Please keep making music.
Write your poetry.
Fall in love again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Keep falling in love with other people & ideas & creativity & wild flowers & the howl of the coyotes & the song of birds & even those cigarettes you try to hide from yourself.
Make yourself healthy meals.
Enjoy pizza at midnight in your undies.
And, above else, when you do move into a new home – paint the walls white.
Fill them with words & beach scenes & art.
Breakdown the ones around your heart.
And, remember, we got you.
You’re always welcome back here.
Please keep coming back.
Take off your shoes & stay a while.
I love it, even if your room watches you 'not in a weird way' :D