Dear friends, today I allowed myself to not work out. And to eat horribly. Yes, I know, major fail. I have no good reason for it all except that I woke up early and I did not want to yoga and I convinced myself that I would come back in the afternoon and workout for an hour instead, but things happened and the exercise didn't. I will, however, attempt to work out with gusto tomorrow morning before my departure to NYC. Since I didn't go out to eat, no updates on that front.
1,203 Miles
I look up our distance to know how quickly
I will not be getting to you.
Here's a test, I've never been good at them.
My number 2 pencil is not sharp enough to handle
grief from this far, when my only resources are
my words and they feel empty.
Words can't hug you, or kiss your temple.
They can't turn you on your stomach and rub your
back. They can't sneak behind you and massage
away the tension on your neck. They can't do
the dishes, or make the bed, or do that last
minute run to the laundry room. They
can't drive you to the airport (not that I can
either), or stand next to you letting the world know
you've got someone to lean on. Grief makes me
realize I've kept all my words for you and that
maybe by now
I should've been sending words to the 3-0-5, saying
your mother's first name to her, not to you.
Mirror sure is funny when it's pointing at me,
suddenly all the excuses I made for myself
this past year about distance are senseless,
because I'd see them soon, we'd bond in person
soon and soon is
as senseless as my trying to behave towards
them the way my family behaves when in truth
this is your family
-your family,
our family,
since I am yours-
and now our third Abuela's body is gone
we're left with all this love
that 1,203 Miles can't cover.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
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