It's been a weird summer. Hijo has spent many weeks at my parents' house, and I've just seen him in passing, or gone there to spend the night with them from time to time. Sure, it's nice to be able to grab a drink after work, but that gets old after awhile, especially in light of an empty house.
I fell in love, or became infatuated, or something like that: something intense and powerful and completely crazy, with the most impossible of people. Someone who has now, thankfully, sailed away. That unmoored me, set me adrift in a sea of Jr. High emotions and forgotten insecurities.
And now the Wooden Boat Festival is what, three weeks away, and that train is barreling down on me, pistons pumping, whistles shrieking, the rails humming and vibrating below, and I feel like the damsel in distress, tied to the tracks.
How did my life become this thing that wrecks me? I used to think it was a polishing, like a stone in a river, tumbling. But now it feels like a mallet, landing hard, scattering dust and shards everywhere. The rock doesn't care, though. It just breaks apart and reforms, letting heat and pressure, water and wind, fissures that start small and grow, dictate its new shape.
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