My Love, Hell isnt an address, its something that happens. Its a wound so deep that never quite grows new skin to protect itself. Its the injustice compounded on injustice. Its the strip mining of what you love. The losses you cannot forgive. I have seen you change in the 9 years since the catastrophe. In some ways the changes have been beautiful. Enhancements to what you already were. In others they have been horror that has only drawn out the emptiness, the devastation, the betrayal, the pain. You are an organic living thing. Expanding and contracting as a mothers womb. You rise like the sun and descend like a full moon. You kick and claw. You dance and parade and flaunt. You rage and rock yourself into fitful slumber. And we, as your children, do the same. Sometimes to our detriment, and sometimes, sometimes, it is pure grace. But the one thing that perseveres is the gratitude. We are grateful for our lives after so many lost theirs. Grateful for home, where ever we find it. Grateful for love, however we make it. Grateful for the opportunity to be a part of what makes your story, and to write our own in your shadow, in the light that you cannot help but give. Love. Always.
Posted on: Fri, 29 Aug 2014 13:39:31 +0000
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