A Rock In The River

Note: This is the only blog post I am keeping from before I revamped. As a reminder of where I’ve been, my strength, progress and growth.

I.

This blog is written in bed. Always.

A bed that isn’t only bed but home, table, sanctuary and world.

It is written on a small phone set on dark mode, night shift and Do Not Disturb.

It is written by feel and hope.

Eyes glancing the screen every other paragraph trying desperately to stretch the minutes left before the timer buzzes; ability dripping away.

It is written with thankful hands that remember home keys as really home.

With fingers that flutter across a folding travel wireless keyboard often lost at the foot of the bed.

This is written by a rock in the river.

Glinting and seemingly at ease.

The water rushing over, under and past her at such speed that she’s long lost the true memory of a cool breeze; legs sturdy and wild running over summer grass.

This is written on the body with nowhere else to go.

This is a hand trying to break the hard packed surface decades deep, unsure what will meet or hear her if anything at all.

This is written by Claudia and regardless of what you may have heard, she still lives.

II.

I promise I tried reaching you in my thoughts.

Sending out my soul through the open window in to the cheers at midnight every New Year.

My hand sought yours in your sleep on alternating Tuesday nights.

My light called your light in prayer daily.

The beam in my chest growing hands and feet.

My mind clawing against closed door after closed door; remembering.

III.

These stories crumbs of a small world left for the birds.

The journal once secret now cast out; a glowing net, a beacon of hope whispering:

I exist. I exist. I exist. I exist.