I remember as a kid saying once that I was going to run away, and I didn't look back.
I was gone a day before my parents realized that I was serious and went out to look for me.
A few years later while in Turkey I was upset at my father, and so, even in the midst of an earthquake, I walked away from him. I hid in a corner and watched people hold one another in their arms as they ran past, not noticing me. I stood static with knees locked, and heart pounding heavier and heavier, sinking my knees even further into position and I couldn't decide
(I COULDN'T DECIDE)
if I wanted my father to come save me from my solidarity among the chaos.
In those moments, the falling buildings from all around us weren't as loud as my own heart.
The people's mouths gaped, filling with tears, but they were mute; everything was mute.
My tears tasted salty, but not as salty as the mediterranean that stung my eyes only weeks before; at that point the stinging in my eyes was replaced by something more.
When my father found me, it was clear in his face that the wreckage that was all around us wasn't comparable to the wreckage we make of one another.
Does the earth that shatters around us/stings us/ shakes us/ bites us/ harms us provide a mirror image of the potential wreckage in any relationship? Do the sunny days remind us of the rewards?
In love (and in in anything really)
the reward has to be worth the pain.
Both the reward and the pain have to be known before the endeavor
because there is no finish line, and
because pain and joy are what pull our eyelids down like curtains
to prevent the stinging in our eyes from the sun
along with a slow unveiling of light onto form,
the form ultimately being the wheel on which we incessantly run,
arms laden with loved ones and mouths filling up with salty water
as we watch the water levels rise and homey structures crumble.
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