There was a house fire yesterday evening. I remember distinctly awaking to the sound of the siren. Coho was howling outside (the sound of the siren always inspires her to do that). At first I was in a daze. Then someone asked on the VHF, "Where's the fire?". The panic struck then. I realized why the siren was going off. My first instinct lead me to the window. There was no smoke anywhere in the village, until I looked way off in the distance- to the corner very far from my home. I pulled on rain gear over my pajamas and hitched a ride down. The sight was a devastating one. A small, one bedroom cabin ablaze in flames. The entire building was engulfed. You could make out each of the beams- they burned a bit brighter than everything else. The crackling was soft, yet loud. There was nothing anyone could do. The village has no running water. Our fire truck's battery had run dead long ago. So we all stood around and watched. I hate to say it was romantic, but in some odd way it was. No one was inside, so we could all just patiently wait until it fell to the ground. And that's what everyone did. In thoughtful silence, among the flames.
Counting Rain Drops
The weather has been terribly dark lately. The Bering Sea has sent winds eastward and they haven't died down for over three days. The dark clouds loom over, making even the happiest of emotions a bit more dreary. I've been counting rain drops on my window, listening to love songs, and waiting for the sunshine. It's the kind of weather you can't pull yourself up from. And the choice of slow dance music isn't making my loneliness any more easy to handle.
You're An Addiction To Me
I've seen a lot of broken dreams. But none is more powerful as watching you fall apart. You sit on your half of the world, distantly getting high while I wait for you to step through my door. And if you ever did visit, would you wake up and watch me walk out to the kitchen in my morning attire? Or would the drugs be more important, as you barely raise your eyes to meet my risqué hopes? I'd wish every second in your company that you'd absent-mindedly escape your haze and take me somewhere with you. I'd let your dark eyes melt into my blue ones. And I'd let you're brown hair tangle in my blonde hair. And I might, if the world turns in the wrong direction, wrap my fingers into yours while you step away from your addictions and get addicted to me....
Coming From Misfortune
Most people will never truly understand depression. They cannot fathom someone replaying suicide in their heads over and over again. And for that, they are lucky. They are lucky that they will never know that kind of hurt. But I am not so lucky. Before my awakening of maturity, I was left with a shattered array of teenage years. Ones that battled suicide over and over again. The scars on my arms from cutting are a reminder of the girl I was growing up. She was so beautiful, but she had no idea. Self-expressive, different, undeniably uncomfortable in her own skin. She went at war with eating disorders, experimented in one too many promiscuous activities, and was diagnosed a chronological liar at only 15 years of age. When she grabbed the kitchen knife and threatened to kill herself (the note, already written in her bedroom) I wish I could have been there. Not to pull the knife away, but to get to her before she even reached that kitchen drawer. To stop her. To drag her, crying with bloody wrists, to the bathroom mirror. And then to cry, leaning over the bathtub in pain from the sobs, and cry with her. Let her bawl her eyes out, choking on heaves that were too heavy to swallow. She needed that. Someone to break down with her. To let her know that those demons that came to her, came to others too. She never knew. She never knew that other people fell as deeply dark as she did. And that loneliness shadowed the happiness of her life. It stripped her of her childhood, forced her to runaway to Alaska, and made her into I am today. I don't regret those years. I wish, for her sake, that she wouldn't have gone through them. But without them, she never would have grown into a storyteller (rather than a liar). And she never would have found her fate.
Dreaming For The Impossible
Do you ever have one of those dreams- those crazy irrational dreams- that you just can't help but wish come true? I'm having one of those dreams. There's no way in the world it will ever materialize, but here I am spending second upon wasted second hoping for it to become a reality. It won't. Fate rarely hands someone a miraculous collection of perfectly aligned events. But if it did, oh my gosh if it did, my heart would explode with happiness.
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