Remembering something good

I'm still having a tough time. Did a lot of crying last night, caught in a loop of being so ashamed of how broken up I am without DH that I don't want to have to face him again. What kind of logic is that? How irrational is it to think that he's going to lose respect for me because I'm struggling to remain upright since I miss him so much.

My eyes are still raw from last night's meltdown that I didn't get enough sleep after, so I'm going to do my best not to think about it for a few hours at least. Until I get my feet under me again, I might not be online so much.

But the point of this post is an interlude and distraction.

Trying to write script for Lily and Wyett today, I was flipping through an old journal to find notes I made about it in the past. In addition to what I was looking for, I found the rough draft of this poem I wrote mid-December.

Geography

If our bed was North America,
you'd be the Rocky Mountains
with a firm grasp on the
Mountain and Pacific time zones,
your head is pillowed
in the snows of the north,
your feet (always hot)
jut from the blanket's embrace.

I could lie in
the Great Plain states,
uncluttered, smooth, inviting,
or leave that vacant land between us,
nestling my body
in the Appalachians,
and dream the wall's a window,
and I'm gazing across the Pond.

Instead, I squeeze myself
onto California
(though covers don't reach)
curling against your slopes
with my back to the sea
and feel the gentle, lapping
waves of wind.

You probably don't have to look at a map to know I played it fast and loose with the actual geography. But the memories are good and real, and good, real memories are what I need right now.