the wind blows terribly here

Work today, extra busy because one person was gone (again, as she so often is) and all that extra that we did on Saturday was for naught. It was good to have a lot to do, to be distractible from whatever was going on in my brain; I only hope that it was pretty much going on without me here and there.

At least twenty times, I picked up my phone to send him a text. I needed to let him know the crazy stuff that was going on in my head (he would understand immediately), or the dumb memorials that are being put up on FB about him (he would laugh). I wanted to tell him that I miss him already. Those were the moments that brought a gasp and a deep breath and a shudder...and, damn, this is the rest of my life.

No tears until I was putting on my coat to leave, and then I could feel it breaking open. I'm not trying to pretend that there's nothing going on--I told a couple of people at work, and I know that they told at least a couple more--but I also don't want to be that person who comes to work and doesn't do anything except be dramatic and selfish all over everybody else. I need a balance for myself.

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.

[Izumi Shikibu, 'Although the wind...,' trans. by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani, from The Ink Dark Moon]

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