weakness
little breakdowns
in costal towns
they come suddenly
crashing over you
they come easily
Fog was thick this morning, palpable almost.
Morning routine was by rote. As long as I don’t physically stop or sit down anywhere I can make it out the door in a reasonable amount of time, although clothes for work were a bit hard to find, which slowed me down. I’m so listless, so tired. Keeping the right posture in my chair is a struggle. Very few of you can read this, and I’m jumping around. Months go by and I haven’t found her… Things, I don’t know what exactly, wear thin. I want so many things, the comfort, the help, the conversation, the advice, the companionship, the physical closeness and that means of expressing love… …and the beauty, oh the beauty. But I won’t invest myself fully in someone if it’s not meant to be… I won’t go out with someone as a utilitarian, pragmatic gesture; just to have someone there–I don’t want a woman, I don’t want a girlfriend or a wife, objectively, I want her. Just one.
I want to lie down beside her in bed, her back against me, my arms around her, my legs tucked up underneath hers, my nose brushing the back of her head ever so slightly (but without tickling, paradoxically) underneath mounds of blankets on a cold winter night. To feel the rise and fall of her body from the gentle breathing… I want to sit across from her on a porch swing on a late fall afternoon, reading. I want to walk with her, hand in mine, and laugh… Washing dishes together, listening to the radio and talking… Planning together, deciphering life. Being proud of her as her ambitions come to fruition. Among other things.
Have I wasted these moments? Or are the true ones yet to come?
I don’t usually post these. I keep it inside.
Oh Matt, this is another one of those times when I wish I had all the answers. When I wish that saying, “Don’t worry, God is still preparing her for you,” would make everything better. I know you know that, though, so while it’s nice to hear… it doesn’t make the wanting go away.
The way you write about this is amply beautiful. It is very real and and very pure… I’m glad you didn’t keep this inside. But [selfishly?] I like your writing, and I like to know how you’re doing.
I hope and pray that you can find peace about this.
Du im Voraus
verlorne Geliebte, Nimmergekommene,
nicht weiß ich, welche Töne dir lieb sind.
Nicht mehr versuch ich, dich, wenn das Kommende wogt,
zu erkennen. Alle die großen
Bildern in mir, im Fernen erfahrene Landschaft,
Städte und Türme und Brücken und un-
vermutete Wendung der Wege
und das Gewaltige jener von Göttern
einst durchwachsenen Länder:
steigt zur Bedeutung in mir
deiner, Entgehende, an.
Ach, die Gärten bist du,
ach, ich sah sie mit solcher
Hoffnung. Ein offenes Fenster
im Landhaus—, und du tratest beinahe
mir nachdenklich heran. Gassen fand ich,—
du warst sie gerade gegangen,
und die spiegel manchmal der Läden der Händler
waren noch schwindlich von dir und gaben erschrocken
mein zu plötzliches Bild.—Wer weiß, ob derselbe
Vogel nicht hinklang durch uns
gestern, einzeln, im Abend?
-Rainer Maria Rilke
(translation:)
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,-
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate, in the evening…
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
You don’t know how perfect this is… I love Rilke. The emotion that swells up within me when I read it; I don’t know what to do with it all…
Thank you for sharing that.
I don’t know how many times I’ve wished a simple sentence I’ve said would help you, would fix things in your direction… But you know how that works.
Thank you for saying you’re glad that I didn’t keep it inside, and thank you for your prayers… I waffled many times over whether to post it, how much to post, etc, etc. It means a lot to know that someone reaches out to me.
Oh, geez, the German characters got all messed up. Anyway, I know how you feel–remember feeling that way back in college and this poem was indeed perfect.
I understand . . . I have thoughts like those. Actually, they were fulfilled once, with a man I wanted to marry, but things just weren’t right . . . :(
things just weren’t right
A little over a year ago I thought I had found the One. I was ring shopping, even, but it’s amazing what stepping back even half a pace does for one’s illusions of compatibility. The pink mist falls away, and you realize that they’re not meant for you at all… Sad, but it was God’s grace.
It’s taken me this long to rebuild as much of the optimism as I have…