the coyotes understand

It is just a after three in the morning and I am at my brother’s home in the country. So many trees and open space to comfort me. I step outside into the warm winter morning, into the darkness illuminated by the moon’s light reflected on the snow. How I love this! The crisp, silent air is still like a stopped clock. Two bunnies scamper across the snowy field, startled by my presence. The moment is already mesmerizing and magical, but then the coyotes begin to howl.

Just like that night, sitting on the rocks, lakeside. We thought they heard your sorrow, were crying with you. Now they feel mine, and are howling for me, too. I am so thankful for their empathy, How I love their wild and mysterious cries. I take comfort in their primal sounds, though I know not what they say.

I’m surprised how much this hurts. How much I miss him. How my pride has not swooped in to construct a version of events to make me hate him. When we said goodbye, the last thing he said was “I love you.” I know he does, and that is why this hurts so much.

I haven’t shared my pain with a soul because I don’t want to hear their bad advice. I love him, and I pray his path leads him to me again. Anyone would say I am a fool. So I don’t give them the chance. I have love and I have hope, and the coyotes understand.

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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