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To Fall Apart

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I got on the plane, sat down by the window, and started crying.

Got off the plane, made my way outside to grab a cab, sat in the back seat, and started crying.

Found myself at the mansion where I was renting a room, followed the sweet woman up the stairs, she opened the door, and I started crying.

She asked me what was wrong and I simply told her that I feel like I clawed myself here.  That I’ve been having a hard time–and now I’m just falling apart.

She grabbed my bag and guided me up another flight of stairs, opened another door, and said how about this room instead.  

The softness of it all.  The space.

So much space–from the ceiling to the floor–the light was just pouring in like warn, gentle lava–and the bed looked as if it was surrounded by angels.

I said yes, and started to cry.

I crawled into that bed–still wearing my scarf.  Still tucked behind my coat.  Still locked in my shoes.
My head hit the pillow, I closed my eyes, I started to cry.

I came here to fall apart.

I came to cry all the tears I’ve been gathering behind my heart.

I came to let the pieces of my life crumble and tumble  onto the earth below.

I came to burn my fears–my false identity–the little things I’m still holding onto from a life so long ago.

I came here to be vulnerable and have someone hold me.

I came here to sleep by myself with the blankets pulled tightly over my head.

I came here to be ok with being one big gaping wound.

I came here to allow my sisters to help carry the load.

I came here to say good bye to the Connie I got really good at knowing.

And to spread my arms wider to the Connie I am becoming.

I came here to fall apart.

So I can be whole again.

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