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  • it's happened again. I'm here, under the waves.

    it's different with you here. easier. I come up for air more often. but I wonder whether what I'm really doing is putting myself completely out of view for a few moments when it feels like I'm breathing?

    to understand why I'm under the waves, you have to know that there's this lingering desire.

    when I was asked to visualize myself for a meditation last Friday, I was pregnant in the conjured picture. I was in labor, naked, bulging, sitting on the yoga ball in the living room and holding onto the post. sweating. contracting.

    why do I still visualize myself pregnant? it's this desire. to still be integrated with you.

    they say people with amputated limbs can still feel the limbs long after they are gone. I can still feel you like you are a part of my body. it is physical and visceral. it is not a metaphor.

    but every day the separation is progressed. one day you took a bottle and then you weren't entirely reliant on me for food. another day you slept 12 hours and didn't need me to comfort you . now you crawl and stand and don't need me to carry you.

    I remember dissecting a cat in 9th grade and the awe of pulling its skin from its muscle via small tears to the underlying fascia. that's how this feels. like the fascia is being carefully cut back in small sections and our two bodies pulled to different hemispheres.

    there are many other things happening too. this is not the only grief tied to my ankles while the waves wash over.

    and like I said, it's actually easier with you here, because I have to forget my grief entirely when you need me. and then - like now - when you don't need me ... I sit in the kitchen, which is washed out in sunless dusk, and hear the click of these keys under hand and wonder when I will care about something again, other than you.
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