This will be uncharacteristically short.
Even though the past two months were much better than they’ve been over the past four years for reasons I’ve discussed and explored here, they were still very emotional for reasons I also discussed and explored here. Because of the time of year and all the exciting and wondrous and painful changes, many of my recent posts have been processing emotional pain and unrequited love and past traumas.
But not this one.
Although my nights and weekends are still hard, as that’s when the loneliness threatens to smother me, when the distractions and sounds of the world fade into the dark night. There’s just so much silence.
Tonight in Lancaster, England, even the parrot is quiet. The moon is illuminating the clouds outside my window just as my computer screen is illuminating the tears on my cheeks. I think of him, so far away…in every way.
Before the silence and darkness and loneliness of the night, however, my day was wondrous. I had my first English riding lesson, and I did really well. My teacher was impressed with how much I already knew. The parrot (Mr. Stinkki) sat on my shoulder and even gave me a kiss.
I watch the sunset with him every night and remember how I used to watch it with Buster, and I grieve that loss while strengthening the bond with my new feathered friend. Once I get through tonight, tomorrow I have a personal training session so I can continue building strength, both body and mind.
Once I get through tomorrow night, I have a cello lesson the following day. I’ve already picked out “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on it, I’m quite proud to say.
Then this weekend, when there is so much time to fill, I will go for a hike in the Lake District and visit Wordsworth’s home. Perhaps even see his daffodils.
Overall, my new life is quite beautiful, the heartbreak and loneliness somehow exquisite in their pain. The joy of England and new adventures and fulfilling work and realized dreams fill my days.
The nights aren’t all that long after all.
After the tears, I dream. Sometimes of him. Sometimes of me. Sometimes of all the things I’ll do and all the places I’ll visit. Then I drift to sleep and let the peace of unconsciousness envelop me.