And so it is...just like you said it would be.

Life goes easy on me, most of the time.
- Damien Rice, The Blower's Daughter

Something happened. I'm trying desperately not to write about it because I'm absolutely terrified that if I do it will stop happening or I'll wake up or...I don't know. That somehow it will slip away, just disappear.

But then again, I want so badly to explain the smile, the sleepless nights, the why, why, why. Why you'll see me this week looking somehow different. Maybe it's the hair. Maybe the grin. Don't know. Maybe you won't notice at all.

Maybe you'll think it's because I moved. Or because the dog is healthy, or because the job is challenging and pays well and because it's beautiful here. Yes, it's all of those things.

Perhaps I'm afraid to say it aloud because I'll sound like a 16 year-old. Or because for all that I like to say that I don't care what others think (and I really don't), I'd hate to think that people think I'm flighty. Or easily swayed. I've always been the rock, the unwavering and steady, the reliable. The disaffected. Or maybe it's what I'd like everyone to think. That I don't need anyone, that I'm some sort of self-sustaining force of nature.

But someone cracked the code. It was a very simple code, I advertised it to anyone who would hear me, who'd listen. But few took me seriously, maybe most thought I wasn't really capable, willing, or soft. Or maybe it only mattered to others like me.

I don't know what to do here, it's been so very long since I've been here in this spot. I can't apply logic to this, or a timeline or anything of reason. And in matters like this, I don't have a very strong track record.

But I will try. Again. And again. Until there's no more air in my lungs, until the last shuffle in my chest. There is a fear and restless joy at being here, and not being here alone.

I will pour my soul into the cup for him to drink; he knows not what is possible.