chincoteague

what a scary thing, to feel so settled in a decision before all the facts.
in this way i begin--
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love, at one time or another, was so much of a decision and less of a beginning.
we began, of course,
but in beginning i only chose.
only fought and only quit and much like edna pontellier, only drowned.
this was love and it was water about my nostrils
a choice i kept making, treading water, desperate for something that felt more like alive, more like kindness, more like knowing.
and did you ever know me? and could you have ever?
lying naked on the bed next to you, still feeling the need for cover: thin sheets and lies.
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alone felt more like honesty and breathing in the ocean at eleven pm in june on cape cod.
have you ever been there? i am wrapped in the memories of thirteen discovering its open waves and its open sea. and have you ever seen the chincoteague island?  i am wrapped in the memories of seven discovering its ponies and its sand that turns green under your toes.
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i am seven.
i am thirteen.
i am eighty six.
i am twenty five.
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in secret i am wrestling with the soundness of my decision, and in feeling so settled i remember a promise i made to never forget the love i promised myself to. 'i found him whom my soul loveth, i held him and would not let him go.' it is written around my wrist to haunt me and i wonder, could you too?
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life, it scares me.