Light. Come find me.

Light. Come find me.

At words edge.

In that space between heartbeats.

Where feelings are raw and visceral.

This image, my fourth in this series.

A moment of  ‘almost darkness.’

But for the Light that always finds me.

I find it hard to believe that grief has become part of my language.

Excruciating to talk about, except when I can turn every word, and imagine how it will sound to someone unfamiliar.  Like I once was. I never saw the patina of the dark divide. I do now.

When someone tells me of their mother or partner who has died, I’m keenly aware that this might change how they choose a box of cereal from a supermarket shelf; that they might not notice that they have left the present tense, or that they tremble imperceptibly at the slightest hint of sympathy.

I’m not morbid.

I laugh and eat. I sit in company, and laugh and eat.

I’m entertained. I work.

But I’m changed. I know this.

I know you know this.

I want me back, just like I want you back.

In between.  

Holding on and letting go.

Light. Come find me.

Find me doing something important.

Find me making pictures at words edge.