French Toast with a Suicide.

I woke up and had the most somber, yet validating conversation with my mother this morning. Both of us are broken and, now, we're madly grabbing at all the pieces scattered across the invisible floor, in a heart-pounding, frenzied attempt to put ourselves back together. Or at least create someone close to who we used to be.

But every time we try, in our own irrational and violent ways, to fix ourselves up, we fail. Because we're never going to be as happy as we once were. Our lives will always be partially destroyed by the actions of people we can't stop loving. Neither of us will ever fully recover from the damage which has been inflicted upon us. And no methods of coping with this pain are capable of erasing our dark cloud.

I'd like to say, or at least blame this problem, on the fact that Mom and I love people - sometimes to a fault - and never stop caring. We'd never leave a person behind or betray anyone on purpose. And those same terms of love and loyalty are not commonly returned to us. The lyric, "I believe that my life's gonna see
The love I give, Return to me," from John Mayer's Wheel describes the sentiment I'm trying express. Because it's what we really think, and we keep thinking it, over and over, always dumbly surprised every time we're let down...again. The most disappointing part maybe is that the people who leave us, carelessly disregard the situation and move on, unaffected.


So, now we're trying to be happy people. And we still laugh and act a fool, but we want the intense joy we found in everyday living to return, even if it's a little bit different now or takes a little more effort to achieve, we still need it.

The sun will shine through the canopy of the trees, the light making strange patterns as it nestles between the leaves, but once that sun shines through, and it's warm and glowing just like it's supposed to, just like it has since time began, we'll be as close to being okay as we can get. And that's pretty good.