Homesickness for a home that burned down. Homesick for a place you visited once… peered at through the foggy glass. The people all gathered around the dinner table, you were there right?
It’s hard to remember. Your body reminds you of what you once had – even if you can’t remember. Even if you have tried hard to forget.
Losing family is hard. Being cast out into a world that is so atomized and lonely. Everyone so desperate for connection but we’re forgetting how to relate. It’s too messy and hard so we stay in our lane.
We don’t want to get burned again.
It’s easier to go on like we never had family. Try to replace that feeling with something grander, bigger.
But it doesn’t work. It never does. Family is the only thing that matters but often it is the first thing to go. All trauma starts here, with this fracture.
There is a way out. Or should I say, a way back, but it will take generations. It will take a folded piece of paper with the secret jotted inside, handed down and down and down until someone can remember.
B 🤍
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