Colorado Time

i point to the line of trees and say

we can stop there.

she says

we can keep going.

this week, i did not want to hurt myself.

i say 

i’ve finally reached the other side

she says

we can keep going.

it is warm outside and i take off my flannel;

i am wearing short sleeves underneath.

she is not afraid.

she has never been afraid of me.

today, recovery is yoga mats and coffee mugs and hiking a mountain.

more than that,

recovery is discovering that i can go so much further that I believe.

maybe this is what it means to be alive.

spring comes late here.

maybe i am on colorado time.

april is almost over and i am still thawing out,

but this weekend reminds me that snow and sun can live in the same month.

maybe being alive is more than waiting for life to happen.

maybe getting better is more than having answers for every question.

maybe becoming who i am meant to be is more than figuring stuff* out.

looking out over boulder,

i ask if she was healed by

mountain air and cooking meals.

she says no.

there is no cure.

there is time and words and love.

there is self-care when self-care isn’t pretty,

when it’s a fight.

it is singing until we believe

and singing again for someone else.

i wonder if i will ever get there

if i have anything to look forward to. 

but this week, i wanted to take a shower.

i wanted to get out of bed.

i wanted to write until my words turned into songs.

and I say,

we can keep going.