I feel things.
Sometimes too many things.
But I am feeling them, without fear.
It feels raw, and I feel like I should flinch to avoid being hurt. I need to find some resilience. Or find some peace in that fragility.
It is dusk, and I am sitting alone and content, the last vestiges of sunlight pouring in from all sides. The doors are wide open, and Currie is perched on the deck outside, staring intently at me as I write.
"What are you doing?" I ask her, when I look up to see her yellow-green eyes fixed on me. She meows a reply, then yawns, stretches, and steps back inside, and past me.
We are happy here, in this moment.
There is still so much hurt. And sadness. And loneliness. But it is accompanied by a visiting peace, and a growing awareness of moments of joy. And grief in the moments that have passed without it.