dreams of renewal

my mind is turning more and more inward. i just had two days off in a row. two days of staying here in the apartment working on a widow's quilt for one of her sons. two days of no talking to anyone but my daughter when she called once a day. otherwise i did not speak at all.

i find it easy to not speak. should that bother me? or should i be grateful that being so utterly alone is easy, and always has been? i've always turned inward to escape my life. mother, father, brother ~ check. first husband and the out-laws ~ check. widowhood ~ check. inward i go and i fantasize. i write in my head and carry it forth to the computer.

i've written 3 novels, over 600 pages each. so different in genre and yet, not really in vein. one is about a woman who escapes from abuse. one is about a woman who gets murdered before she can be saved. one is about Hell. they are all written from my soul and my observations of people, and from my misery. i write to expunge the poison. i write to vent. i write to free myself.

"It is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears.

We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea--whether it is to sail or to watch it--

we are going back from whence we came."
- John F. Kennedy

i dream of being renewed. i dream of a home by the ocean. i dream of salt water and gulls, of sand and driftwood, and shells. i dream of sleeping a rest-filled sleep with dreams that do not haunt me once i awaken.
i dream of kinder mornings where i can walk on sand and feel water swirl around my ankles, where i look down at shells and small crabs scurrying, and out at infinity.
i dream of sunrises and sunsets that warm my home with their light and promise of days that do not hurt, that do not have stress or worry in them. i dream of looking out at the water from every window and every door.
i dream of rebuilding myself one shingle at a time, one porch, and one window. if i could live by the ocean in a home, a real and true home that i own and no one can take it away from me, i think i could do this widow thing.
i think if i were home, i could find myself again and then start to heal. until then, i am a lost and abandonedsoul searching for peace, searching for a way to stand up for herself, searching for the water she no longer sees. not even off on the horizon.

i feel childish in writing this but i wish for things i cannot have or cannot find. i wish for a different life. i wish i lived beside the ocean in a little house, a real home that is mine. i wish for a small group of friends who have known me, known the "us" i used to be. i wish for a past that doesn't haunt and hurt and i wish for a future that is safer, more calm, more peaceful. all these things i find inside myself though. i daydream, and night dream. i know they will never be true in a physical sense, but i can live in my dreams.

what would he say to me if he could see me now? what would he think of this body whose carriage is strikingly weary looking? what would he think of eyes that cry over harsh words and being ignored or dumped? what would he do if he saw me laying on a bed that is sometimes without sheets or pillowcases because i am too tired to pull them out of the dryer? what would he say to me as i research what to eat, count pennies, and struggle to smile a fake smile? would he cry? would he offer comfort? would he turn and abandon me too, because i no longer look like the me he knew. i look like the old me from when i was ruled by tyrants. i look like a far older, more exhausted version of that old me when i had nothing and no one to save me, to comfort me, to reach out to or work for.

oh, my heavens, and in saying that, did i just admit that i am not worth me saving me? must contemplate that.

i wish anyone who reads this, peace and this nugget of truth. try to always be kind. you never know what kind of anguish or how deep it runs that someone may be hiding.