All at once in The First Life

I walked up the crumbling path leading from the driveway to my old home.
I habitually reach out to open the lid to the black mailbox.
Letters don’t arrive there for me. Still, I check, like the fastest hand on the clock.
A year later and a heart a million miles away, as I approach that door whose latch sticks, I feel the longing to curl up on the couch inside.
I walk in, shoes on, taking my first full breath of the smell that never leaves that place.
A cool, clean, and unidentifiable smell.
A part of me wants to cry and melt into the floor.
To lay in that room and stare at the ceiling and feel that familiarity.
I am finally creating my own space but it takes time.
Comfort is hard to create.
Harder to walk out of.
I’ve been working hard so I don’t eat.
Creating lists of things to make a new place my home.
Holding my breath and letting my stomach feel anxious.
Feeling the sun and the sweat creep down my back as I try to build all the things I’ve dreamed of.

Empty rooms echo.
They carry the sound of music and voice well so I don’t have to try to be loud.
That’s an upside.
The bottom floor stays cool and I leave the doors open.
I pet the dog across the fence as mine watch anxiously and still confused.
Now that I’m here I feel a little empty.
What’s next?
I’m always pushing myself but where to now?
The walls still sticky with the smell of new paint and that still doesn’t make it feel like mine.
I wonder if I’ll have a real life here.
Like making a home would bring me the rest of what I need to be fulfilled.
Like my heart can rest in a bigger space with emptier walls....
I’m not sure what I was thinking.
I’ve got a lifelong commitment but it isn’t one of love.
I guess sometimes accomplishment is accompanied by sadness.

It’s a large space to be alone.
I, and my pack of dogs.
I sometimes feel like a den mother.
Bold and strong and fearless with no need for anything beyond my pack and I.
But then I feel soft.
I ache a little and hate that.
I wonder if he’ll ever stay in my bed.
He doesn’t touch in his sleep and I need that.
But he is so gentle.
He is kind and keeps me full of compliments.
Despite that, I cannot read him.
I crawl under his blankets and feel miles away, unable to sleep, afraid I might wake him.
He moves constantly.
Unexposed to sharing spaces, but he tries.
He wakes to tell me I’m beautiful and apologizes for not being closer.

I’m always too far ahead.
Like I’m so afraid of time escaping me.
Like I need to figure it out before it happens.
Like there’s a code for me to crack and if I can figure it out, everything will be fine.
I ruin things trying to prevent an ending that doesn’t exist.
Watch myself go from confident pack leader to caring for a human whose care I cannot, without a fault, depend on.
I feel panic set in as I realize a portion of my happiness is within someone.

Our heads brace one another when I am most vulnerable, and it is the most beautiful and touching thing.
He isn’t afraid to fix his eyes on mine, unwavering and calm.
Despite everything I’ve been feeling overwhelmingly insecure.
Constantly facing wave after wave and lungs burning of saltwater.
I can’t even piece together the reason and I’m picking my brain apart trying to figure it out.

Eventually all the static will settle, and what I’m left with will be what is important.
I’m already gripping on, in hopes he doesn’t fall into the static.