Moments of clarity are big hunks of driftwood, floating in this ocean of tears and as I cling to one this morning I understand things I'd rather not confront when the fog rolls in, wood sinking back to the bottom of the sea.
I sip my coffee in the rain, under the glass, the cloying humidity keeping me weighed down and I wonder if the devil fears the wood the way I fear that fog. I think I know my answer. I think the devil foreshadowed this, again, many days ago when he just knew if I crashed out of my drugged stupor back through the light of day that I would see him for what he is and not what I need to make him in the dark to get through it.
What he is is a beautiful man who hides a monster on the inside but that's how I make him. He is himself with everyone else and a hungry animal with me. I don't know what I did to cause that to come out in him but it's there and once I saw it he couldn't put it back so I'm putting it back for him while I can.
So what happens now? My little-girl brain asks, anxious to get back before dark, back to Lochlan who keeps the monsters away even on this, the longest day of the year when there's very little dark to crowd in around her.
Be very brave, I tell her and she nods as if this is very serious, knowing full well in a moment she's going to turn and run back to the lights because nothing bad can happen in a place where people go to have fun.