It was a wonderful weekend, with beautiful-like-a-rainbow days. I was one of a thousand laughing, loud, brave and exquisite people, and we marched and we sang and we danced and we flaunted, and I felt alive, liberated, completely and totally and uniquely me. In the many crowds I wandered through, I found old friends who I'd not seen in years and we celebrated our reunions. And even made some intriguing connections with new friends too. It was magical, and no doubt the best time I've ever had at Pride.
And now, this day-after Sunday moves slowly past me. I have spent it alone, reading poetry, watching a movie, listening to Joan Armatrading sing the blues, bumping around the rooms in my apartment, all the while wrestling with the faint whisper of an ache inside me. It is something close to loneliness, minus the melodramatic angst. After being surrounded by so many, the echoes of their voices, of our voices, fill the spaces around me now.
This kind of aloneness nearly sweeps me away.
So I'm going to light a candle, burn some incense, sit with it, hold it close to me. It doesn't matter where it came from, it doesn't matter why it's here.
It just is.