Alice In Her Own Land

I cry a lot about my future. Oh, how I can taste life’s sweet nectar with my eyes closed and a few deep breaths. In, out, in, out. I feel a stray tear mark a trail down my cheek, shining as luminescent as the things I long for. It all feels so far yet so close at once. 

I cry for the passionate love I’ve yet to receive. That love is earth-shattering, all-consuming, pure, and liberating. Marred with imperfections and saturated with the efforts of two people willing to put in the work to love well and love for long. I have yet to experience that all-encompassing emotion and yet I cry. 

I cry for the moment when nothing matters but the tiny life I hold in my hands. The agonizing 18 hours of what birthing my entire world would feel like. How I’d forget all the agony, the contractions, the dizzying tears, once I held a part of me in my hands. So pure, unmarked by the complexities of living. They are mine, they are of me. I cry for that split second where nothing but them and I exist. I have yet to know the multifaceted meaning of what motherhood is and yet I cry.

I tear up at the possible knowledge that my life is meaningless, that I wasn’t able to touch as many lives as I had dreamed to change when my faith in humanity was once so pure. I feel an immense wave of incomplete melancholy at the slight chance that I never have or will impact lives outside of my own, for the better. My life has yet to be complete and yet, the tears run on.

I weep at the impending doom of my mother’s passing. My lifeline, my best friend, my whole world, stripped from me in an instant. I weep, I wail, I moan in agony at the hollowness of her absence. For who am I without her? God forbid she be taken sooner than I am equipped to deal with. Truthfully, no measure of time would ever prepare me. So I cherish every waking moment we spend together. The mundane, the arguments, the laughs. All of it. I cry in joy, in love, in light. 
My mother is here with me now and hopefully will remain for another hundred years, my children have yet to be but the love thrives on, my true life partner is late for our meeting but my heart is patient and I am here now.

Sure these tears may only appear after a drink too many, or when the loneliness of life’s solitude pays me a visit, I cry all the same. There’s a comfort in these emotions. They are meant to be felt, meant to be seen, meant to be heard. Valid in their own right. With a smile on my face, I cry, I weep, and I wail for a beautifully pending future as close and as far as the present and the past.