Yes, I would tell you that I love the rain, and all its permutations, damages, and flow. It was pretty brilliant and sharpening to wake up to the darkness this morning (even at an unearly hour) due to the rain/storm clouds still hovering around NY.
We got caught in very very heavy rain and sheets in our craving to go get egg creams and my "pink poodle" (hibiscus soda with a scoop of vanilla ice cream) at Brooklyn Farmacy & Soda Fountain all the way across Brooklyn in Carroll Gardens. It didn't help that we stopped by Trader Joe's for dinner groceries (lamb sandwiches on multigrain baguette with rosemary aïoli and butter lettuce with a side of rosemary scented mashed potatoes). It didn't stop raining. Well, only when we were eating ice cream.
Ridiculous. All of our clothes were soaked. The backpacks were water resistant enough to keep the groceries dry.
I'm not sure how it happens, but cycling around town really does keep our spirits up. I couldn't bike to work today since my saddle got wet (even through the seat cover, sadly), and it's still rainy today.
The weekend was marvelous, though. My first in a long time where I didn't have to go anywhere, do anything, or meet anyone. Not that I don't enjoy company, friends, or going out--but I hardly get to just do nothing, and being with the person I love the most. It'll be our last weekend like that for a while, I believe since JB starts work this weekend, and who knows when we'll have the same days off?
And like with the rain gently tearing across Brooklyn, the river, the pane of our windows, I also marvel at how much swelling, bounding love I have for Justin. It makes me so deeply rueful to think about the mistakes, the many mistakes I've made. The parts of me, the behavior that unknowingly hurt/s. Knowing that I've failed so many times makes me feel undeserving. I know that some think I'm too hard on myself, that I should learn to forgive myself, and I am trying. But the regret that I've accumulated washes over me sometimes, and I can no longer just see a good thing. But only the damage and broken lines I've left.
They change, yes. They shift, they dissolve, they grow to something else, and some sit there. It's always working, I know.
But I do feel this way, this marvel, and every morning, I wish I could keep it in my cupped palms and sit with it. I've thought I've felt this way before--I've used the words brim or effulgent. With him, I don't have words, only this tenacity and ferocity of feeling to gather and gather and exist. Not to consume. Not neglect, nor denial.
I hope that I am shifting, too. That I can do this, and work towards the dream that I don't dare have.
And it terrifies me, to feel so vastly for another--to have that feeling be bigger than me, and stranger, and sometimes, unfamiliar--I say vaster because I cannot imagine the scope, or see where it ends. That it overrides me. To have that lost of control in the feeling, and yet, I have to trust it. That is the risk, right? To want, and to just do whatever I can, and let things go the way they go. To fight myself.
The letting go of the kite while running, alone.
